The List
by Future Memory
Summary: Stelena, AU, all human. When you know you're going to die, are you strong enough to live? When you accept your fate, can you open yourself to the possibility of it being altered?
1. Chapter 1

"Please don't tell me you drove up here by yourself," nurse Whitmore points her index finger at me over the info counter when she sees me walking down the hall all by myself.

The first thing I notice on nurse Whitmore, always, is how healthy her skin color looks. Sometimes I can't hide my bitterness, especially during the summer, when she starts tanning like those women on the magazine covers do. Having a tan is not even an option for me, it's strictly forbidden, and I just don't like the idea of fake tanning. So my skin looks snow white all year long, like someone coated it with white paint. I look like I ghost, which is something no one likes me joking about, since I'm so close to becoming one. When I find myself in the sea of tanned people, it looks translucent, I melt with the air.

I smile at her mischievously, teasing her for a bit.

"Don't worry," I say when she refuses to take her hard, judging look off of me, "My friend Bonnie is picking me up afterwards."

"Good. Because you know you shouldn't be driving after having your blood taken out," she finally lowers her finger, alongside her look, and starts going through some papers on the table in front of her, "Actually, you know you - "

"Shouldn't be driving at all," I interrupt her and finish a sentence she was about to say, one I know all to well. She looks at me, irritated by me stealing her words, but also with a decent amount of sorrow because she knows I've heard those words million times too many. "I hear it from my parents every time I leave the house."

They see me as a walking, talking, barely breathing pamphlet for danger to others, and myself, that they sometimes forget I'm just 17 years old and that driving a car is a right of passage.

Nurse Whitmore doesn't take the argument any further and I wonder why do everyone still feel the need to start it up every time.

Her expression changes from worried to cheerful in a split of a second when she asks, "Do you have any plans for tonight?" she bends over the counter to whisper in my ear while shaking her ass lightly to the rhythm of music she probably hears in her head, music unreachable to anyone but her, "Any hot dates?" I laugh out loud, too loud and inappropriate for a hospital, when I see her wiggle her brows and bump her hips against the edge of a table like she's humping someone.

I thank all the heavenly powers this corridor is empty so no one can see us as I answer sarcastically, "Yeah, sure," my laughter dies out and I roll my eyes, "Since all the boys are lining up to date an anemic, dying girl whose bones can handle as much action as their grandmas. Don't forget all the hot bleeding," I wink at her, making a joke out of this, out of my life. This is my reality, and I have accepted it, but other people can't. My parents don't allow me to do things I'm mostly capable of doing, while others think I'm capable of doing things I'm not. I'm stuck in the middle between two types of people who want what's best for me, who think they know what's best for me, but at the same time they keep contradicting themselves.

She rolls her eyes at me. "Don't be so dramatic Elena, you're not dying."

It's true, at this moment, I'm not. But a year ago, I was. And a year from now, I might be dying again. I might start dying again tomorrow.

I don't feel sorry for myself. I used to, in the beginning, when doctors first gave us the news. But that was years ago, I was just hitting puberty, I was feeling sorry for myself because of many things. Pimples. Greasy hair. The fact I'm still the only flat chested girl in my class. Hair, hair everywhere. Blood pouring out of my freaking vagina. Back then, cancer was just one of the things on the list to complain about. But the pimples went away and my hair fell out because of chemo and my boobs grew over the night. I've realized that chocolate and ice cream are a reward for my utters trying to eat me from the inside. All those things came and went as they do for all teenage girls. But the cancer stayed. At one point, it was the only thing on the list, it became my whole life. I stopped going to school, my parents limited the time I got to spend with my friends. I've missed out on so many things like first kisses and parties and sex. So of course I complained. Of course I made a big deal out of it. Of course I made things harder for everyone around me with my self pity. Every sentence that came out of my mouth was somehow connected to my state. It made my family feel horrible, especially my mother, like my health is something she can control. But it was easier on me, the harder it was on her, because it made me feel less alone. I was a 16 year old girl imprisoned by my own body, chained to a bed, either in the hospital or in my room. I wanted to go out there and dance and kiss boys and fail exams and collect pieces of my broken heart along the stony yellow path. My life was a nightmare and no matter how many times I clapped my heels, wishing to go home, everything was always the same after I would open my eyes. Then, one day I woke up, and I just stopped. I stopped being selfish and awful, and I accepted my fate. I realized it's not my fault, but it isn't my mothers fault either. If she could, she would have traded places with me without giving it a second thought. So when my condition got better, I took it as a reward for my good behavior.

But it never went away. They keep reminding me everyday that I'm not a healthy teenage girl. I can't do things other girls my age can. Cancer is still there, inside of me, lurking in the shadows. It didn't free me of its burden, but it gave me time. Sometimes I wonder what for, because I refuse to live. I refuse to fall in love and travel and go to all the parties people keep inviting me to, mostly out of pity. Because if I start living, I won't want to stop. I won't know how. But my time will run out and cancer will wake up again and take me away and it's going to be only harder for me. Harder for everyone else as well. Right now, cancer is like an attack dog, waiting for something to sink its teeth into. I won't give it material to destroy.

So there's a list of things I can't do, things I've forbid myself from doing. It's not long, but it contains things that can change your life. Things that make you want more. I'm not allowed to ask for more, so it's better to stay away from them. People like nurse Whitmore, and my friends, think I should burn that list. They all believe I'm going to get better, now that cancer stopped spreading. _70% of the people recover from this fully and the cancer never returns_, nurse Whitmore keeps saying. _When you're a 25 year old virgin you're going to regret that list_, my friends say through laughter.

But they don't know how it is, to have something grow inside of you. To feel it on your lungs, around your rib cage, trying to get through, to get its pointy ends in your heart and suck the life right out of you. They don't know how it is to have your insides covered in roots.

My family, mostly my parents, tried to stop me from doing things I felt capable of doing. Going back to school, getting my drivers license, even the simple things like going to a library and carrying a stack of books all by myself or, heavens forbid, going to a gym.

"I have a date with Dr. Fell," I say to lighten the gloomy mood whenever the topic of me dying comes up.

"Control yourself Elena, she's married," she yells after me as I push open the swinging door leading to the corridor in which Dr. Fell's ordination is settled.

I smile even though she can't see me anymore. Nurse Whitmore keeps making my trips to the hospital worthwhile. She's the reason I'd keep coming here at least once a week even if I didn't have a reason to anymore. She just started working in the hospital when I got diagnosed. She was working here only a month when they gave her an angry 14 year old girl with cancer spreading like wildfire to handle. She was holding my bucket for me when I puked and caught every bloody towel I threw at her. And there were many. My parents couldn't be at the hospital all the time, so she was there for many of my tantrums, but she was also there when I would finally break down and cry. I learned to trust her with my secrets in a way you trust a friend, so she was the first one to find out about my lists - a list of things I have to stay away from, and a list of things I want to do.

I knock on Dr. Fell's ordination and before my hand gets a chance to drop I hear a friendly _come in_ coming from the inside of the room.

"Hello," I say after I open the door, "It's your favorite patient."

Dr. Fell moves her heavy, brown curls over her shoulder and my throat tightens. The issue of hair is still a sensitive topic for me even though I'm off of chemo for more than a year and my hair is shoulder length now.

She looks up from the paper she's been scribbling on when I walked in and smiles at me. "Hello Elena, I'll be with you in a second."

Dr. Fell is just few years older than nurse Whitmore. I was the youngest patient she ever treated, since I was admitted at the age where I was too old to stay in pediatric section. I knew her sister from school, she was two years older than me, which is why, I guess, Dr. Fell got attached to me more than to her other patients. Because somewhere back in her mind she very well knew her sister could have easily been in this same position. It's funny how people often make those assumptions.

I waited few minutes for her to take care of the paperwork, until she's ready to take my blood out. She asked me how's school, and I said it's fine. She asked me a lot of questions to which I answered _fine, just fine_. I think she knows nothing is ever really fine with me, but she doesn't say anything. She might like me, or pity me, more than her other patients, but she has managed to maintain a professional relationship with me, unlike her main nurse.

She told me to wait for few minutes until the tests are done. She always leads me through everything even though by now I know every test as well as she does. Maybe that's why I'm rocking my AP Bio.

While I'm waiting for my blood results, which come fairly quickly - go technology and modern medicine - I check my facebook page and twitter profile. Nothing new, as usual. I have a lot of friends and none at the same time. I have only two real friends - Bonnie and Caroline - I guess everyone else are their friends who became my friends because I'm friends with them. I'm not even sure they count as friends, but whatever, everything is relative, especially in high school.

"Your white blood cell count is stable, which is most crucial," from the beginning I've known that white blood cells are my worst enemy. I didn't understand much, but when they would mention white blood cells I knew that's where the action lies. When the news were bad my mother would release a small crying squeal, so that's how I learned to separate bad news from the good news. Unfortunately, my mother squealed and cried a lot. "Red blood cells are in a better shape than they were at the last count, but I worry about your number of platelets," she pulls her lips into a thin line, sucking them dry.

"I get a lot of nose bleeds," I say in a hurry, like I'm ashamed of my platelets.

She raises her look from my results to me, studying my face carefully.

"The other day I had a really big one," I say as the image of two bloody white towels crosses my mind, "We were able to stop it just before my mother pushed me into the car to take me to the ambulance," I remember my mothers horrified expression. I hate knowing how helpless she feels whenever something happens to me, when she's not helpless at all. She always stays calm, even though the drama factor on her side of the family is off the charts. She always knows what to do. She just can't accept the fact that she can't pull this cancer out of me with her own bare hands. She feels responsible for every move my body makes, for all the pain I had to go through. Like she herself created all these blood clots and pushed them through my nose, inside my body.

Dr. Fell keeps looking at me for quite some time, like she's debating on should she trust me or not. Why would I lie about a nose bleed?

"I guess that explains the low count of your platelets," I guess she decides to believe me after all, even though she adds, "But if they go lower the next time, we'll have to do something about it," she looks at me knowingly.

Do something usually means some excruciating medical procedure. I don't even blink at the mention of it since I'm used to it. Maybe she's testing me, if I'm going to change my mind about the story I've just told her. She thinks needles and knives invading my body can scare me. Doesn't she know there are scarier things out there than getting cut to pieces? Like creating memories that will only be a burden on your loved ones once you're gone.

I think about how weird it is that I smile after she says this, grateful that I'm free of this place for one more week. Seven days of no hospitals. Seven days of no needles or stuffy air or white gowns.

"Okay," I hop off the bed, "Am I free to go now?" I ask, checking out the time. I'm late, I told Bonnie I'll be done by 6pm, and it's already ten minutes past six. Bonnie won't complain, no one ever complains when I'm late. But I don't like being late, nor do I like receiving a special treatment like I'm unable to carry out a task just because there are unneeded, murderous things growing inside of me. Bullets can kill you as well, does that mean you should never leave the house in case someone decides to fire one today?

I guess Dr. Fell is still under the effect of the calmness and simplicity by which I take in the news, because there's surprise in her eyes when she answers, "Yes, of course."

I'm already at the door telling her goodbye when she answers. I shout my goodbyes to nurse Whitmore as I sprint down the corridor, and I know she's swallowing the words my mother so often yells after me when I'm late for school. _Don't rush Elena._

_You can't allow yourself to be in a rush._

* * *

We have one rule, my friends and me. We don't talk about the cancer. We don't mention the cancer. The cancer doesn't exist in Bonnie - Elena - Caroline triangle. Our friendship is a cancer free zone. If I get sick, if my nose bleeds, if I puke, if anything connected to the disease happens while I'm with them, there's always some other perfectly reasonable explanation for what just happened.

It was my request, to their dismay, because they often want to ask. I know they do. They have to be curious about how much time I'm left with, or where the cancer is now. I guess I could give them answers they gave me - _we don't know_ and _everywhere_. But I feel they deserve more than those five words. I feel they deserve more than a sentence, which is not something I can give them. They would have so many questions, questions I don't have an answer to. I've come to realize that young people always do, have a lot of questions, they never stop looking for an explanation. My parents just nod at everything, they take the facts in and deal with them. My brother never did, especially when he was younger. _Why did you get sick, Lena? Did you do something wrong? Are you going to die? When you die, am I still going to be able to see you? Where will you live when you die? _

I often asked the same questions myself. Why me? Why now? Why this early?

_No, Jer, I didn't do anything wrong, at least I don't think so. Yes, I'm going to die, and no, you won't be able to see me. I won't live anywhere._

_Where will you go then?_

_I don't know. _

_Well, when you get there, will you be able to look for my firetruck? I can't see it, and since I won't be able to see you either, maybe you will be able to see it. Maybe invisible things can see each other._

_Sure thing, Jer._

"Sorry for being late," I apologize one more time as Bonnie starts the car up, getting away from the hospitals parking lot and driving into an empty lane.

"It's fine," she says, dismissing my apology, "Caroline is late all the time, which is why I have the stack of CD's in the backseat."

I glance behind me like I want to convince myself the backseat is still full of CD's. I guess you could say Bonnie is in love with music. She doesn't discriminate anything, she listens to literally everything she can get her hands on to. Pop, rock, jazz, punk, classical music. Her love for music goes beyond a certain genre or artist. She loves music because of what she hears even when she's the only one able to hear it.

Caroline likes those funky songs, the ones that make your body move. Ones that make you want to dance even when you're feeling like your bones are falling apart.

Me? I don't really like music. Maybe because I know if I took interest in it, it would occupy me. I would have to listen through every one of Bonnie's CD's, or maybe every CD ever made to conclude what I really like. I don't have that kind of time. I don't really have time to be passionate about anything.

I guess I'm going through life, looking at it through other peoples eyes. I think I'm going to see and learn much more that way. It will feel like I lived longer than I probably will.

"Where are we going?" I ask curiously, even though I know the answer.

Bonnie smiles because she knows I'm faking curiosity. "The Grill," she answers nevertheless.

I groan, falling into our usual conversation of the Friday night fever, "Again?" I whine unnecessarily.

Her smile widens but she keeps the act, "This is Mystic Falls, it's not like we have a choice."

I know all about not having a choice, so her last sentence shuts me up.

I guess that's the reason why I insist on this word play every Friday night, and maybe she knows there's a reason which is why she puts up with it. We have the same old scenario which we go through, one that always ends the same. After she says her last sentence I fall deep into thought about what it would be like to have a choice.

"Something is going on there, though," Bonnie says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Oh?" I say, this time genuinely curious. Nothing ever happens at the Grill, except for the parties that are usually planned weeks ahead.

"Yeah, Caroline texted me before you came in, she's not sure what's going on either, she just says something is not right."

I don't ask anymore questions because I know Bonnie doesn't have an answer to any of them. I'll just have to wait until we arrive to find out what's going on. Things rarely happen here, so my curiosity is excusable. Bonnie is probably curious as well, but we're both experts in hiding it. Caroline is another story, she wouldn't be able to hide her excitement to save her own life.

When we arrive to the Grill the parking lot is so full we barely find a free spot. Bonnie and me share a look, allowing ourselves a quick, knowing smile before getting out of the car and rushing towards the door.

The place is crowded, people are pressed against each other. If windows were opened, someone would fall out for sure. The Grill is crowded like it never was before, even though it is the main meeting place. There's smoke everywhere, the air is stuffy and the whole room smells like cigarettes, alcohol and cheese fries. Some song I don't know, which isn't all that surprising, is playing and people are moving slowly to its rhythm. If they moved any faster they would push against each other and there would be a real commotion. I can hear the balls grazing the edges of a pool table, one I can't see from all these people.

We find Caroline in our usual booth, with her nose held high. We know, we know. The music sucks, there's too many people to interact with anyone or to dance, everyone will be drunk before 9pm. She doesn't even have to say anything, we know.

"Hey, Care," Bonnie says as we slip into the booth. She greets us in return, carefully surveying the crowd like she's looking for someone. Probably whichever guy she likes this week.

"What's going on?" I ask hopefully. Maybe she got some new piece of information while we were on our way.

She rolls her eyes, like all of this is a waste of her time. "Some guys came back," she huffs.

_Some guys came back?_ I ask myself disappointingly. That's what the big deal it about? Who are these guys and why are they back? Where did they go to begin with?

Bonnie asks the same question out loud and Caroline shifts her attention from whoever she's looking for, to us.

"Yes. They lived here before, and now they're back. I don't even know what the fuss is about. Some family moved back to Mystic Falls. Boohoo, what's a big deal? Why would anyone move back here, anyway? They better be hot," she says a lot of things at once and I don't know to what to concentrate first.

I want to ask what their names are, but before I get a chance to do so, Caroline leans over the table into my face, "Matt Donovan was asking for you," her smile is so wide it almost wraps around her head.

I furrow my brows, quite irritated by her constant excitement over my non existent love life. "So?"

"So?" she asks as if I've offended her personally and backs away into her seat, "The guy has a crush on you."

"Well, that's a really stupid thing from him to do," I say as if having a crush on me is his own fault. In a way, it is. Everyone know I don't date, which keeps guys away from me. Well, that and cancer.

Caroline seems to be irritated by me. "Why won't you give him a chance?" she hisses through her teeth.

I hiss back at her, even though I'm completely calm. I'm used to these kinds of outbursts from Caroline. "Because I'm not interested."

"Interested in what?" I hear a voice behind me, a voice I know very well. Matt Donovan.

Okay, Matt is hot. He has these clear, baby blue eyes and such perfect hair. Hair many would kill for. Some probably have. He plays football for our school and maybe has a crush on me. At least that's what Caroline says. I've known Matt since forever, but I can quite read him. He's not exactly mysterious, but he's not an open book either.

I'm not interested in starting anything with him, because that would break my number two rule on my not to do list.

_1. ..._

_2. Don't fall in love._

Which would totally happen, and I don't want my life to turn into a Walk to Remember. I don't want to fall in love with little Matty Donovan and his baby blue eyes, and I certainly don't want him falling in love with me and then me doing something stupid like dying.

"Having a beer," I say. I'm not allowed to drink anyway. A little alcohol couldn't do me any harm but if my mother smelled any of it on me she would call an army and I wouldn't get to leave the house until I agree on going to weekly AA meetings or something.

Matt and his best friend, Tyler Lockwood, slide into the booth next to us. All of a sudden I'm aware who Caroline has been searching for in a crowd.

"Spill," Bonnie says, almost orders, "Who are these mysterious boys?" I can see the curiosity eating her from the inside.

Tyler takes a sip of his beer, right from the bottle, before he answers, "Salvatore brothers. Remember them?"

"Remember?" Caroline squeals and I wonder when did her mood change so drastically. Maybe when Tyler Lockwood assumed his position next to her, or when she heard the Salvatore brothers are back. "Damon Salvatore was the hottest sixth grader in the history of Mystic Falls," she says too loudly, but no one can hear her from the music and the chatter.

Bonnie nods in agreement.

I remember Damon Salvatore. I don't remember him being hot, because at the time I was loyal to my husband number three, Brad Pitt, but I do remember him making my brother eat a worm for a dare and smudging a brownie across my favorite dress, telling everyone he bets I will lick it off as soon as I stay alone. I also remember the rumors he glued Katherine Pierce's hair to the back of her neck so they had to remove it surgically.

"His brother went to class with us," Matt says, "Do you remember Stefan, Elena?" I can feel his eyes on me.

I swallow. "No, not really," I lie.

Of course I remember Stefan Salvatore.

I just hope he doesn't remember me.

* * *

We didn't see either of the Salvatore brothers that night. Maybe because the place was too crowded, or maybe because they didn't show up to their own welcome back party, if they even knew one was being held.

Just because I didn't see them doesn't mean they weren't on my mind from the moment they were mentioned, which was weird, especially since I didn't think about either of them since they moved away when we were, like, 10.

It's not like either of them were a big part of my life, even though they were certainly present. They left a mark on me in two very different ways. Damon was the meanest boy I've ever met, while Stefan was the first child who was nice to me when my family first moved to Mystic Falls.

It's not like there's some big story concerning Stefan and me. He wasn't my first love, he wasn't my first kiss. All that ties me to him, and the other way around, are few memories.

I remember him leaving without saying goodbye.

When we first moved here, in the second grade, I had a hard time adjusting. I was chubby, and it wasn't all baby fat, most of it was the fact that I would sneak out of bed at three in the morning and eat Ben&Jerry's with a spoon right out of the freezer. I was wearing pigtails and back then I refused to wear anything but pink. They called me Miss Piggy. I didn't have a lot of friends. Fine, I didn't have any.

Stefan was my first friend here. I just remember that one day he came to me during a recess. I was sitting behind a tree on a playground, eating my cookies. When I saw him standing in front of me I thought he's going to make fun of me. To call everyone to come to see the fat girl eating cookies far from the wandering eyes and mean little tongues. Instead he asked can he have one. He said he likes to glue cookies together with ice cream. Or chocolate cream. I told him I like the same. He asked me to come to his house today after school and that his mom will make some cookies for us. He was careful to tell me his brother won't be home. At first I thought he's playing a prank on me, but I said yes. Because really, what was there to lose? He wasn't playing a prank on me. His mom made us cookies and we ate them with ice cream and chocolate cream until we were full. He almost ate as much as me, which never happened.

He wasn't my best friend, we didn't even hang out that much in the short time we knew each other. But he was my first friend here in Mystic Falls, a first kid to be nice to me, and maybe we weren't best of friends, but we were still friends.

But just as he didn't have that much of an effect on me back then, he won't have it now. We were just kids and now we're strangers, and that's all we're ever going to be. Anything more would break rule seven on my not to do list.

_7. Don't let anyone new in your life._

Still, when I came home that evening I've pulled my curtains closer together because tonight, for the first time after a while, there's light lit up in the house across from ours.

* * *

**_AN: Hello, hello, and welcome to my new story. What do you think so far? Should I continue it?_**


	2. Chapter 2

I have a lot more memories of Stefan and Damon Salvatore than I have initially thought because, that night, they don't let me fall asleep, no matter how hard I try. I close my eyes tightly, willing them to go away, but it's like my brain has conspired against me. It wants to prove me wrong, we're not strangers. No one you have so many memories about can be a stranger to you. It really doesn't matter how much time you spent with a person, what matters is how that time was spent.

I can see all those people walking the school corridors, meeting in five, ten years from now, and all they'll have are rumors they've heard from someone else. Their relationships are woven out of false facts and information, words that should have never been spoken. Years and years of intimacy that should have never been discussed, a lot of knowledge about someone you don't even say_ hi_ to when you meet them on the street.

Years mean nothing, because they have never let each other behind the closed doors. In only several months Stefan had invited me inside of his home more than I can count. I don't remember returning the favor but maybe, with time, it swims up. The more I think about him, the more memories I dig up. I can't believe I've discarded our relationship, our friendship, so much that I've thought we weren't even that big of a friends.

Damon was always a troublemaker. He did the stupidest things, things most of us wouldn't think of doing, not even in our wildest imagination, and he never cared about getting caught. Sometimes it seemed like he wants to get caught, like he wants to flaunt his misbehavior for everyone to see, like he has something to prove. Maybe that he's not afraid of anything, or anyone, because he wasn't. He didn't choose his victims by their weakness, because even those bigger than him shriveled when he walked by them.

Stefan was different. He was silent and calm, he didn't like when the attention was on him so he never did anything to ask for it. He was small and skinny, basically unnoticeable, so that wasn't that hard of a task. No one ever paid much attention to him. Sometimes it seemed as if no one but me sees him. Sometimes I've thought I've made him up. He mostly kept to himself. I can't believe that it's only now that I've realized he didn't have a lot of friends either. Actually, when I look back, it seems like I was his only friend. It was him, his mom and me, eating cookies with almost anything eatable. I've never even met his dad, even though I knew he has one.

He was always looking over his shoulder. He was careful, as if someone might attack him any second now.

He was sad, he was always so sad, even when he was happy. Even when he genuinely laughed.

I left my bed several times that night, peeking through the curtains. I wondered is his room still in the same place it used to be, right across from mine. I've noticed the light is on. I was able to see it all the way until the sun came up.

That morning I don't miss the alarm because I haven't slept at all. When the lyrics of _Wannabe_ by Spice Girls fill my room, I'm already wide awake, staring at the ceiling. My eyelids are heavy, so heavy that at this point I wouldn't even be able to pull them down in order to try to fall asleep. I pull the covers off of my body, slip my feet into my fuzzy bunny slippers and walk over to the mirror to face my own reflection.

There are dark circles under my eyes, my skin seems to be in a worse condition than it was when I went to bed, even though I'm not sure I can blame sleep deprivation for that. My hair seems flatter than usual. I have to ask Dr. Fell is my hair strong enough yet to do something with it, something other than ten strokes with a brush per day. I've decided I want curls. Big, heavy, massive curls. Ones that are too big for my head.

I sigh at my own reflection, not even hiding the disappointment from myself. My disease has turned me into a make-up specialist, so there are no circles or bags under my eyes I can't cover. I can even make my skin look somewhat presentable.

I remember, when my cancer was at its most crucial state, nurse Whitmore introduced me to the power of make-up. Since my white blood cells are abnormal, defective, they can't help protect my body from infection like normal cells do, which means that my body is always weak. Even the smallest, lightest touch would leave bruises on my skin. I was like a butterfly, untouchable, since my skin was as sensitive as butterflies wings. You squeeze your fingertips a little bit too much around it, and it cracks.

I put same make-up on. Nothing much. A little bit of foundation, blush, some mascara and lip gloss. With it, I look almost pretty. Desirable. Like an ordinary 17 year old girl. Almost. I wish I could put make-up on my insides as well, maybe I could at least make them last longer.

I don't know why, but I decide to wear a skirt today. In the last year I've managed to gain 10 pounds, so my legs don't look like branches anymore. My bones are not sticking out, there's some flesh on them. At some places they're actually curvy, or maybe I've imagined that part.

When I was younger all I wanted to do was lose all that unnecessary weight. But when my disease came, it took more than my body was able to give. I was a skeleton covered in thin, translucent cover that was my skin. You could have seen my bones peeking through even when you covered me with a blanket. Collar bones, shoulders, elbows, ribs, knees, hips. Everything was pointy. I was afraid I'm going to hurt someone with my sharp edges and I couldn't believe some girls starve themselves to look like this. _Here, have it all_, I would think when I would see some story on the tv, or when I read it in a magazine, _have my bones and my tiny frame, but you have to take this disease with it as well. Show me how much you want it._

No one ever came for it.

When I walk down the stairs I hear the murmur of voices, hushed tones, which means aunt Jenna must be here. She always stops by before work to share the latest gossip with my mother.

When I come into the kitchen, my mother rushes over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. "Elena, are you okay? What's wrong?" she asks worriedly, already checking my forehead for a fever.

No matter how much make-up I put on, I never manage to fool my mother. She always sees right through me. Sometimes I think she knows my body better than I do. She knows my every move, how my steps sound when I'm not feeling well, she can even hear poorly oiled lungs of mine when inhaling and exhaling becomes a problem. She can feel it before it happens.

"I'm fine," I push her worries away, kissing her on the cheek, "I just didn't sleep well."

"Why?" she asks.

She always wants to know why. Why didn't I eat everything from my plate? Why was I too tired to read that book until the end when I only have few pages left? Why didn't I sleep well? She has so many why's and sometimes all I can give her is because.

Sometimes I feel that, to her, I've become my disease. I'm not her daughter anymore, I'm cancer. Everything I do has something to do with that thing inside of me, if you her. But it doesn't. Sometimes I want to scream at her that I'm not ruled by my disease. It's part of my life, but there are other things as well, things that possess me, things on my not to do list I so desperately want to do. My mother doesn't know about my not to do list. She's probably the only person who would agree with it, since she doesn't even agree with my to do list, which is more mellow.

Cancer invaded me, like an alien, like a foreign body that is taking over mine, but there are other things, things that possess me, like thoughts and things I shouldn't wish for, things I gladly let possess me because the bigger they become, the smaller the cancer gets.

"I've just had some stuff on my mind, is all," I give aunt Jenna a kiss on the cheek as well. She sends me one of those flying kisses because she doesn't want to leave a trail of lipstick on my cheek.

"Stuff?" my mother asks curiously, testing the word in her mouth, like its foreign.

I take my cup out of the cabinet and fill it with coffee.

"Yes. Stuff."

She opens her mouth to ask which stuff, but aunt Jenna clears her throat, telling her that would be enough. I'm really thankful for Jenna, she's the only one who knows when to mute my mother.

"Elena, dear," my mother says instead, "You know you shouldn't be drinking that much coffee," she says when I fill my cup to the top. It's a rather large cup, which makes sense, since last night was a rather long night I didn't sleep through.

There's a list of things that can help cancer grow. Foods. Drinks. Things my mother is careful to keep out of the house. Things I somehow always get my hands on.

Aunt Jenna and me share a look. _Be calm_, her eyes tell me, and she smiles.

"If I don't get some caffeine in me, I'll fall asleep in class," I say calmly, as requested.

"Well, maybe you should stay at home today, then. Get some sleep," she proposes. By the tone of her voice I can tell she already considers it a done deal.

My cup hits the counter, loudly, and I hiss through my teeth, "No."

I've missed too much already. I _will_ miss too much.

"I got up, I got dressed, I'm going to school," I say determined.

My mother pulls her lips into a thin line, more worried than angry. No one says anything for a while.

"So, the Salvatores are really back, huh?" aunt Jenna breaks the silence.

I lower my look to the counter at the mention of the Salvatores and after few seconds I can hear my mothers voice. "Yes, so it seems."

They start talking about them, Stefan, the older boy whose name they can't quite remember, _what was it, Elena_, they ask but they don't wait for an answer before giving their own suggestions, their mother and the fact they haven't seen their father come back with them.

I take their busy chattering as a perfect chance to slip out of the house without _when will you be back, be sure to grab a jacket, don't skip any of the meals_ and many other questions and orders. I grab an apple from the counter and decide to wait for Bonnie on the porch.

I'm just done with my apple when she slides down the street and I rush towards the car. I half expect my mother to open the kitchen window and yell after me not to run, but she doesn't.

I make a mistake and raise my look towards the Salvatore house, which is when I see a figure in a dark blue suit and clear blue eyes, similar to Matt's, hidden under coal black hair, smirking in my direction.

That must be Damon.

I lower my look as I slip into Bonnie's car.

"Who is that?" she basically yells at me, but doesn't even look in my direction. She has glued herself to her car window.

"Good morning to you too, Bonnie," I say sarcastically.

"Of course it's good when the first thing you see when you leave the house is that," she points towards Damon who's now staring right at us, still smirking.

My cheeks turn red.

"God, Bonnie, stop staring at him and drive," I snap at her, annoyed by her behavior.

She does as I tell her, but she still keeps looking at me intently, waiting for an answer.

"I believe that was Damon Salvatore," I answer, looking straight ahead of me.

I can see her furrow her brows from the corner of my eye. "But last night, when Matt asked you do you remember Stefan, you said you don't."

"Well, I don't," I lie again, which is harder this time, because now I actually remember him better than I did last night. I remember him so vividly.

"Liar," Bonnie accuses me, "They live right across from you, there's no way you don't remember him."

I don't say anything for a while. "Okay, maybe I remember him," I say, only because the silence was pressing me to say something. Also, I'm a terrible liar. Especially when it comes to Bonnie. It's literally impossible for me to lie to her. My system won't allow it.

"So, why lie?" she doesn't ask curiously, or judgmentally, she just asks. Because it's the next logical step.

"Because of Conrad," I answer, and she doesn't ask anymore questions.

* * *

_Conrad_ is our code name for cancer. Even though I've forbidden any talk about the cancer with my friends, this way, we're not talking about cancer, we're talking about Conrad. It made things easier. Funnier. It made them feel like their best friend isn't dying. It made me feel like I'm not dying. So when Bonnie would ask me why do I look like shit, I would answer that Conrad was keeping me up all night, and we would laugh. Or when I would puke in the morning, Caroline would get really serious while leaning closer to me to whisper, _is it Conrad's?_

"You should have seen him, Care," Bonnie drools all over Caroline's shoulder as we walk to class, and Caroline doesn't even seem to mind. There's a dreamy look in her eyes, she's probably trying to create Damon's picture in her mind using the extensive information Bonnie gave her. I don't even know if she really had a chance to study Damon as much as she says, or if she's making stuff up, but she almost makes me drool on Caroline's other shoulder. "He's, like, older than 20 by now."

This seems to shake Caroline up. "Does he go to college?" she asks, shaking Bonnie off of her shoulder.

I roll my eyes. How is anyone supposed to know that, we've just seen him for the first time after seven years.

"I don't know," Bonnie says, but her voice doesn't imply that Caroline asked anything remotely illogical, "But he was wearing a suit," she says as if that actually means anything. By the way Caroline's eyes go wide, I guess it does. "A suit," she repeats it once again, to emphasize.

They seem like they need time to take this in, so I let them.

"Did you see the younger one?" Caroline asks just as we step into the classroom.

Bonnie doesn't wait to answer with a quick _no_, and after she does, she looks at me from the corner of her eye.

When we assume our seats, I look around the classroom. Nothing new. Or better to say, no one new. I know everyone in here. I exhale disappointingly, loud enough to get Bonnie's attention who looks at me questioningly, but I shake my head, telling her it's nothing.

It's only then that I realize I've been hoping I'd see Stefan in school today.

Maybe he didn't have a chance to enroll yet? Or maybe he won't go to school here? But if not here, where else would he go?

What if.. what if he didn't move back with the rest of his family?

Mr. Anderson is already in class, writing something on the board. Everyone are quiet, watching him, waiting for him to speak. Mr. Anderson is basically few years older than us, he's my aunt Jenna's age, freshly out of college. He's a baby with a diploma. Do I even have to say that almost every girl in school has hots for him? Some boys as well, if you believe the rumors. He always opens his class with some quotation to which everyone always go _oohaah_, like he carved the words himself right in front of us.

When he turns around and opens his mouth to speak, I hear the classroom doors open. I'm too busy scribbling down in my notebook what he wrote on the chalkboard too look who came in, but when there's only silence followed by Mr. Andersons _can I help you_, I raise my look in surprise.

"Yeah, I'm new," he says, pulling a wide smile across his lips, smile identical to Caroline's. I guess only extremely cheerful people smile with a smile like that, like they're in some secret club. "I'm sorry I'm late, but I was stuck at the registration office," he waves the papers in the air to prove he's telling the truth.

Honestly, if it weren't for the eyes, I wouldn't even recognize him. I don't think anyone else in the world has eyes like him. They don't look sad anymore, even though there's a shadow of sadness creeping somewhere in the background. I guess it's hard to leave something like that behind. His eyes are emerald, greener than I remember them, definitely shinier.

He's not looking back over his shoulder anymore, his posture is relaxed, he's laid back. He looks more like a child now than he did when he was actually one.

I don't know if he still wants to avoid attention, but I do know that's impossible for him to do now. I hear the girls around me whispering, murmuring, giggling. They can see it too.

Stefan is not a small, skinny, sickly boy anymore, that's for sure. He's a rock. He's big, tall, his body is all muscle. I see his biceps become stiff as he waves the papers in the air, clenching his fingers around them.

"Ah, yes," Mr. Anderson says like he's waking up from a dream, like Stefan had the same effect on him as he did on the rest of the girls in the class, "They told me there's going to be a new student joining us. Mr. Salvatore, is it?"

I can see Stefan flinch when Mr. Anderson says his last name, but he nods politely nevertheless.

I can feel Bonnie looking at me, but I can't stop looking at Stefan. My cheeks burn, they're on fire, because I know she knows what I'm thinking.

"You can take a seat," Mr. Anderson points towards the back of the classroom and Stefan pulls his lips into a thin line. He looks towards the class and I lower my look down.

Part of me hopes he recognizes me when he starts walking in my direction. The other part of me doesn't even want to recognize my wishes.

But he doesn't recognize me. He walks by me without even looking at me and takes a seat somewhere in the middle, behind me.

Bonnie leans closer to me. "Elena, Elena," she says my name teasingly, "Something like that, you don't forget," she whispers playfully.

* * *

I turn few heads today. It makes my ego grow. Wearing a skirt was a good idea.

I don't consider myself hot, or pretty. When you see your face covered in the contents of your stomach, and blood, it sticks with you. The image never leaves you, always reminding you that someone else might see you like that, because this might happen in front of someone else. I'm not feeling sorry for myself, I just don't consider myself anything. Even though I've been told otherwise, time over time over time. I find it ironic, when people compliment my hair because not so long ago I didn't have any. Or my cheekbones, when I saw my face fallen into my skull one time too many. Or when they compliment my figure, my slender waist, when I don't look like this neither by choice or genetics.

But, as much as I try to stay from activities which are considered normal from my age, I also want to participate in them. The desire in me grows every single day that I wake up and the cancer is still laying low. Every day I spend without any complications makes me think I could have a life I so desperately want. Every day I'm closer to recovery, closer to being free, to being normal. So I look myself in the mirror, thinking how good looking I am, not because I am vain, but because I can finally see it as well. I wear a skirt or a dress or high heels.

But then something happens. I wake up in a hospital or my brother punches me in the arm playfully and I bruise like someone had beat the living crap out of me. And I realize I've been wrong to think I'm one day closer to recovery when, in truth, I'm one day closer to dying.

I guess I like being noticed. It means people will remember me as more than the girl who died of cancer.

Being friends with Caroline Forbes gets you noticed, big time. I remember when I came back to school, about a year ago, she started introducing me to people I've known for years. But I acted like I don't know them, and they did the same. I'm convinced, if I were anyone else's friend, I would be that quiet girl who has cancer. This way, I'm that deep hot chick who doesn't put out. With cancer. And I prefer it that way, because it separates me from my disease. The cancer comes second, finally.

Coming back to school was like stepping into an alternate universe. In two years I've been gone, we went from hanging out in the bowling alley to making rules of social hierarchy. We're not talking to this girl because she made out with that boy, and we're not talking to that girl because she bought the same dress as this girl. Everything was pointless and gave me a headache. It seemed like such a waste of time, worrying over such things, when there are so much more important things we could be dealing with. Still, I didn't say anything, because I didn't want to spend my time fighting with my friends over things I don't even care about.

"I so didn't see this one coming," Caroline says as we sit down in the cafeteria during our lunch break. She's eating healthy again, all I can see on her plate is green. But we all know she's going to attack a can of ice cream as soon as she gets home. "When there are brothers in question, one is hot, the other one is not. It keeps the balance," she explains.

"Totally," Bonnie agrees.

I'm eating healthy as well. An apple. A bottle of water. Some saltine crackers. And a plum jam cake. What? Plum is a fruit, therefor, this piece of cake is healthy.

"This is unnatural," Caroline shakes her head like we've just witnessed 8th world wonder growing in front of us.

After few seconds of silence, I say, "Maybe they're just hot in two very different ways. They're different, they always have been."

Before I even realize what I've said, Bonnie says smugly, like I'm the biggest hypocrite there is. "Well, well, well, Elena Gilbert finally has an opinion on hot boys."

"Wait," Caroline says, a frown evident on her face, "On Friday you told Matt you don't remember Stefan."

My eyes go wide, panic growing in them. I turn to Bonnie for help, but she gives me that look that means I'm on my own, she can't help me this time. "Yeah, about that," I say apologetically, "I had time to think it through and as it turns out, I do remember him. We might have had few play dates as kids."

It's not that I have any problems with sharing my secrets with Caroline, or that I don't trust her, but unlike Bonnie, she makes a big deal out of everything. And sometimes, I just can't deal with it, with listening to her go on and on about something which means nothing. You can drop the biggest bomb on Bonnie, and she will sit there quietly and nod, she will listen and ask questions calmly. Caroline is like a ticking time bomb. The only time she had nothing to say was when I told them about my cancer. It's ironic that that's when I wanted her to say something the most.

I needed her to act like she usually does. I guess it was too much to ask for.

Before we're able to take this discussion any further, I hear Matt's voice somewhere nearby.

"Oh man, you'll love it here," he says enthusiastically, "Our football team is great," his voice is proud.

"Yeah, I bet," when I hear the second voice, I freeze in place. I remember it from class, so relaxed, like he didn't just walk into the room full of strangers on his first day of school. His voice changed, of course, since we were kids, but there's still some familiarity to it. "I tried to keep my game over the years, but my family constantly moving around made it difficult," he explains.

_Why was his family constantly moving around?_ is the first thing that crosses my mind. I have to remind myself I don't care. I don't have room for any new people in my life. I don't have room for their worries.

Are they coming our way? I hope they're not coming our way.

"Hey, there are my girls," Matt always calls us his girls, "Come, I'll introduce you to them." Of course they're coming our way.

I try to act as nonchalantly as possible. When I look back at Caroline and Bonnie, I don't let them know there's a hurricane inside of me, trying to spit my heart out. I smile as if nothing out of an ordinary is happening.

I can feel a strong hand cupping my shoulder. I stop myself from wincing. "Girls, this is Stefan," Caroline and Bonnie stare at him without making a sound, "He just moved back here," Matt informs us as if we haven't already known this. As if Stefan's not aware everyone are talking about it, like he didn't see curtains in our street moving every time he walks out of the house. "Stefan, these are three most beautiful girls in whole Mystic Falls," when Matt says these things, they don't sound cheesy. They sound sweet, like he actually means them. Matt has this ability of convincing you into something even if you don't believe in it. When he says these things, he's not trying to get anything out of it. He's just being Matt.

"Hi," Stefan says. My back is still turned to him, but I can imagine the corners of his lips go up.

Bonnie is the first one to react, "Hi, I'm Bonnie," she says giddily, in her Bonnie fashion, waving at him.

Whenever Caroline meets someone, it seems like she's preparing herself to leave best impression possible. Her voice becomes warmer, more pleasant. Everything is in its place, she's in control, she's making sure nothing goes wrong. Nothing ever does, she never screws it up. Sometimes I think Caroline Forbes could control weather if she wanted to.

Out of some reason, she doesn't do it this time. "Caroline," she says her name plainly. She smiles at him in order not to come out as rude, but she doesn't use her usual charm.

I realize it's my turn, so I turn around in my chair slowly, looking up at him just enough to make eye contact. "I'm Elena," why does my voice sound do broken? Like someone is holding a knife to my throat? How come I'm so afraid?

He looks at me and holds my look with his. I get lost in the abyss of his eyes. There are strange things growing around my ribcage, dangerous and poisonous plants are making their home on my bones, but it doesn't feel as if I'm being torn from life, at least not in a bad way. My breath takes a wrong direction and ends up in my heels, trying to get out from a place where exit doesn't exist. My skin is cracking and I have a hard time breathing because I'm used to feeling unwanted things grow inside of me, but they never felt natural. They never felt like they belong here.

"Elena," he repeats my name, and a terrifying thought flies across my mind. _He remembers._

He remembers that chubby girl, all dressed up in pink, crying in places no one can hear because her castle is soundproof. He remembers the cookies and conversations about where stars hide during the day and running across the yard with capes on our backs.

_I want to be a hero,_ he said, _I want to fly above the sky and save all the people others can't hear screaming._

_How do you become a hero?_ I asked, not realizing the weight his words hold, for an eight year old.

After thinking about it for a second, he said, _You get a cape, and you fly._

I feel so small under his eyes, like I'm not enough. Because he grew up, he grew out of that small and skinny boy who tried to hide inside of his own skin. I just turned into another disaster.

"Sorry, man, Elena is a little bit of a goldfish," Matt puts his palm on Stefan's shoulder, "She doesn't remember you. I already asked."

I expect Stefan to call me out on it. I fear Caroline is going to say something. I expect to see his eyes drop, and I don't know why. What the hell does he care if some girl remembers him or not?

But nothing happens, nothing shifts.

We just keep looking at each other and I know he knows I'm lying, because he knows I have to remember. How could I forget?

Stefan smiles, like it doesn't matter. He doesn't even need an explanation of why I'm lying. What must he think of me? That I'm someone who doesn't want my past being brought up because it could embarrass me? There are so many secrets of mine he holds, ones I never turned into words but gave to him in a form of long looks and even longer silences.

"That's okay," he says, looking away from me, and I can feel something in me drop. A rock. A burden. I'm free. "I've heard there was a welcome back party for us in the Grill, but unfortunately, we couldn't make it. My brothers thinks that's incredibly rude of us," the mention of Damon sparks Bonnie's and Caroline's interest, "So he's throwing a party. At New Wave."

Caroline's breath gets caught in her throat. "New Wave?" she asks, like she thinks she didn't hear him right the first time around, "How the hell did you get a hold of that place?"

New Wave is the hottest spot around, located few miles out of town. No one younger than 18 can get it, and no one younger than 21 can get a drink. They have a very strict policy about that, and their bouncers practically have x-ray visions for fake ID's.

"My family owns the place," Stefan answers like it's no big deal, "Well, my brother does."

Everyone fall silent for a moment. Stefan seems to be uncomfortable because he keeps shifting from one foot to another. He should actually feel triumphant, it's not easy to leave Caroline Forbes speechless. It took having cancer for me to do it.

"I'll see you there?" he asks when the silence gets too long, too awkward.

_I don't go to parties,_ I want to say. But my throat is dry and I just can't seem to push these words out.

So Caroline says, "We'll be there."


	3. Chapter 3

"Caroline," I say her name tiredly, each letter rolling off of my tongue like it weighs a ton, "I'm not going to that party, and that's final," I say for a hundredth time today, probably millionth in my life. With Caroline, it's never final, unless she gets her way.

They've managed to convince me to go to the mall after school. I was promised a delicious banana smoothie, but all I got was an ambush. As soon as we walked in, Caroline glued herself to the first shop window, squealing, _Elena, this dress would look amazing on you_. Since that moment I knew we're not here to enjoy the fruity heaven, we're here to put me through hell. Bonnie forced a stiff smile, like she knew nothing about this.

_No way_, I said when they dragged me into the first store, _there's no way we're doing this_. But here we are, ten stores into the future, and there's still no liquid fruit in my hands. A teenage girl in me is pushing me to slip into every one of those dresses, like they can offer me salvation. She wants to feel all kinds of fabric on her skin, she wants me to make it up to her for all the prodding and testing, she wants to feel beautiful. She feels like she deserves silk more than this rough cotton I've been forcing her to wear. But the stubborn part of me is fighting her well, a part of me that refuses to let her have fun. I've let cancer eat her up, like it ate everything else.

I don't say anything, though. I even stop complaining after we exit the second store and Caroline exhales in disappointment, knowing all of this is for nothing. But unlike me, she doesn't give up. She puts a smile on her face and drags me into another store. I wish I have her strength, and determination. With her personality, having cancer would be much easier. Caroline would never give up, Caroline would never stop living. Hell, Caroline would kick cancers ass.

It makes my blood boil, thinking I can't even carry my disease out in the right way. I'm not even good at dying. I should do it graciously, I should own it, it shouldn't own me. I should make the world remember me, not hide from it. I know everything I should be doing. Part of me even wants to do it, to walk barefoot on a hot sidewalk on a lazy Sunday morning, to grab a cute boy on the dance floor and lose my head and my heart at the same night, to plan years ahead, to put something for later because I have time. Part of me wants to act like everything is going to be okay, like everything is okay. Because things are looking up. But the other part of me, the part that's constantly afraid of everything, is much stronger and bigger than anything else. I'm afraid of wanting things. I'm afraid of creating new memories. I'm afraid of loving more people and having them love me. I'm afraid of hurting the people that I love, even though I do it every day. I do it every time I refuse to go out with my friends, and I do it every time I push my mothers concern away. My disease made me so cautious, but it also made me selfish, because I'm making people say goodbye to me sooner than they have to. By thinking what's being taken away from me, I'm taking myself away from them. That's the last thing I want to do, but this fear bubbling in my lungs is making me do exactly that. I envy the people who have enough courage to do what they always wanted to do, to make best of the time they have left. Me? When I'm gone, I don't want people to feel this hole in their life. I want to take as little space as possible so that when I'm gone, it can be easier for them to fill that space in. For me, in the end, it won't really matter did I kiss a boy or not, because I'll be gone. But for that boy it might matter. And I don't want that kind of a responsibility. I don't want to matter, not if I can't live up to it.

"Come on, Elena," Caroline whines while pressing yet another dress against my body. By now, I've become numb to it. "It's New Wave. How many people our age get a chance to go there?" by the way she's talking about it, a person might think she's talking about some hot spot in Europe.

"Well, in few days, the whole Mystic Falls High School," I say with my arms crossed over my chest. They've been in that position since we walked in. She furrows her brows like she didn't even think about it. Like the thought that we wouldn't be the only 17 year olds there didn't occur to her. It probably didn't. "Care, you're going to be 18 in few months anyway," I try to comfort her, feeling bad for ruining her excitement, "You'll be able to go to New Wave as much as you want." I still have a whole year to go until I turn 18. I might never go to New Wave. Maybe that's what's really bothering her.

She drags her look over me, thinking it through, but in the end, she says nothing.

"You know what," Bonnie says tiredly, like she's done with this as much as I am, "I'm hungry. Let's grab something to eat."

Caroline looks at her, ready to protest, but all it takes is one look from Bonnie for Caroline to change her mind and agree to grabbing a bite.

We assume our usual table at the place we often frequent, in the corner, right by the glass window, so we can see and comment whatever's going on in the mall. Our eyes always catch something to discuss. I order one large banana smoothie with a smile on my face.

"Hey!" Caroline exclaims, "Isn't that Stefan?" she points at the guy walking out of the store opposite from the place we're in.

Our orders come. Bonnie digs into her tuna salad, completely uninterested in Stefan Salvatore when there's food in front of her. Bonnie has priorities, food over hot teenage boy booty, something Caroline strongly disagrees with. I put a straw in my mouth and when I feel delicious sugary liquefied banana running down my throat, a wide smile appears on my lips. Caroline raises her eyebrow at me, still pointing at the guy, waiting for me to confirm that that's Stefan. Like I'm some Stefan expert. Out of sheer curiosity I look at the guy she's pointing at. He's wearing the same clothes he wore at school today. Dark jeans, a hoodie and a leather jacket, and an impeccable golden boy smile on his lips. He smiles like angels themselves came down from heaven and pulled his lips up, gifting him with a smile that could make orphans laugh, or cure cancer. My thought almost makes me choke on my smoothie. _I wish_.

"Yeah, I guess that's him," I say nonchalantly, like I don't care. Because I don't. To prove my point I look at Bonnie who's still attacking that salad like it's going to run away from her plate if she leaves it unsupervised for even a second.

"Who's that girl he's with?" she asks.

I spin my head so fast that I give myself a small headache. He's walking down the mall with a tall blonde by his side. Her hair is platinum blonde, not the shade so many girls try to get from a bottle, but the shade only mother nature can give. She's tall, almost as tall as him, even without the heels. Her eyes are smiling, her whole face is smiling as she looks at him while he talks about something rather enthusiastically. I can't believe this is the boy who left this town 7 years ago. Maybe this is some impostor living under his name, under his skin. Maybe he has a cancer of his own, an unwelcome parasite possessing his body. Or maybe my memories of him are false. But how can they be, when I remember him so vividly, like it was yesterday? He used to choose his words so carefully, he handled them with great care. He was also very careful about whom he gives his words to, like not everyone are to be trusted with that gift. Now it seems that his mouth is faster than his mind, producing words like they're nothing more than invisible bubbles getting lost in the air.

"Is that his girlfriend?" Caroline asks another question curiously, demanding answers, like she has a right to them. The girl hooks her arm around Stefan's and bumps his hip with hers. Of course he has a girlfriend, just look at him.

I can feel Caroline's question burning my skin as much as the expectant look in her eyes does.

"How should I know?" I say a little bit more snappily than I've intended to. Confusion and surprise mix in Caroline's eyes as she shares a look with Bonnie.

I excuse myself for my behavior, blaming it on Conrad. It's so easy to blame Conrad for everything, even the things that are my own fault.

* * *

I tell my friends I'll walk home from the mall, but none of us are able to leave until they make sure I'm not angry with them. I'm not, I just like walking. The mall is not even that far, it's less than an hour away from my house by foot. Under the watchful eye of my mother, walking is the only exercise I can get, except the times I sneak out of the house after everyone are already asleep and run for hours around the block. I've been doing that a lot lately, especially since I started getting better and my mother stopped checking in on me in the middle of the night. It's weird, waking up at 3am, only to see your mother hovering over you, praying that you're still breathing.

I like to walk great distances. I like the wind in my hair, scattering it over my shoulders, ruffling my clothes. I like my sore toes pressing against my footwear and a path of sweat running down the back of my neck when it's hot. I like walking down the road I know by memory and seeing it differently every time. Things change, everyday. Sometimes for the better, and sometimes for the worse, but nothing is the same as it was yesterday, and tomorrow things will be different as well. Things rarely change drastically, but the change is always present, which gives me great pleasure. It gives me hope, which is stupid from my part. I like moving.

I like going from one place to another. It means I'm leaving something, but that something else is waiting for me. It means that I'm alive, that I have a plan for myself, at least for today, which must mean that whatever higher power there is has a plan for me as well. For now, I'm a part of this world, because I'm moving.

I wave to the people I know. I watch my parents friends shuffle their kids from their cars into the house. Music is playing loudly inside of my ears, that I almost miss someone calling my name.

"Elena!" it's like the voice is inside of my head, a part of the song that's currently playing. "Hey, Elena!" when I realize that the voice is real, I freeze.

I know that voice. Why is it haunting me? Why is it calling my name? I look at my house at the end of the street. If I walk faster, if I run, I'll be inside in a minute. I'll be safe from the memories and words and future relationships I'm not allowed to form. My legs are ready to run, they're as light as the wind, but the rest of my body is rock hard, refusing to move along. Why can't I move? My own mind is yelling at me, cursing me for being so weak, so stupid.

Out of some reason I turn around. I feel like this is one of those moments, the moments that start an avalanche nothing can stop. I can feel the machine getting oiled up, its parts starting to work properly again. He stands before me and I have to look up to reach his eyes. I remember the time when I was taller, bigger, healthier one. I can see his eyes going over me, but he's not checking me out in a way teenage boys so often do. He's pulling me in, allowing me to sink into him. It's like he's noting every change my body has made since the last time we've seen each other.

Long legs? Checked. Slim waist? Checked. Boobs? Checked. Cancer? _Unchecked. _

A lovely, comforting thought invades my mind, spreading like wildfire. He doesn't know. At this very moment, I'm not some girl with cancer, I'm Elena. I'm just Elena, just little plain old me, and that's a luxury I didn't have for a very long time. Not in a small town like this, where everyone know everyone and everything.

"Hey," he says again. I want to protect him from the truth. I want to be his friend again, eat cookies stuffed with chocolate cream and run around his backyard with a cape around my neck. There's a storm inside of my body, a war taking place somewhere between my heart and my mind. My throat feels sore, it's contracting past its limits. I can separate him from the truth, but I can never separate the truth from myself. I can be the girl without the cancer for him, but I could never be the same for myself. How to be what I want to be for him without breaking one of my own rules? And how to tell him I don't want to talk to him with no explanation given, without sounding like a complete and utter bitch?

"Hey," I find myself saying. I guess my mouth got a brain, or a heart, of its own, while I was fighting with myself. I curve my lips up, "Stefan, right?" I ask, playing dumb. I don't know if I'm any good at it. No one tells the kid with a cancer they're not good at something.

I can see something flash inside of his eyes. Disappointment? I don't know, but in that moment, all of my walls almost crumble. I almost punch him in the shoulder and tell him that of course I remember him, I'm just playing him. I almost bake us chocolate chip cookies on a hot pavement under our feet and saw us capes out of thin air so we can fly back home instead walk.

He remembers, I can see it in his eyes, and at this point I don't know does he believe me when I say I don't remember him. Maybe he was counting on me to remember. Maybe he was looking forward to me remembering. Maybe, to him, I matter. Maybe I'm ruining things to him. Maybe, to him, I'm cancer.

If he knows I'm lying, he doesn't say anything. He continues playing by my rules. "Yeah, I live across the street from you, so I thought I'd introduce myself," his voice is warm, friendly, more than I deserve, "Even though we technically met at school today. You going home?" he points with his finger in the direction of or houses.

The only thing I can do is nod, and the next thing I know he's walking and I'm walking next to him.

"So, are you coming to the party?" he asks enthusiastically.

I raise my eyes to meet his, giving him my well rehearsed_ I'm-so-sorry face_, "No, I don't think I'll be able to make it."

"Oh," he says. Rejection attacks his pupils. I can see it in his eyes, what I've seen in the eyes of many when I would make one of my excuses. Disappointment. Run boy, I'll destroy you. I destroy everything, because there's something destructive growing inside of me. "Well, if you change your mind, I'll be glad to see you there."

He remembers, and now I know he knows I remember as well. He's talking to me as if we're familiar with each other. He's talking to a friend, not to someone he met at school today briefly. I want to tell him that I can't be his friend. There's no more space inside of me for anything new in my life. I'm filled up with things, a lot of them vile.

We're almost in front of my house when he says, "I saw you at the mall today."

I'm trying to will my skin from blushing. "Really?"

"Yeah, I was there with my girlfriend."

I feel like someone has punched me in the gut. Why? I raise my eyes, a panicked, confused expression in my eyes, when I ask, "Oh, so you have a girlfriend?" I don't sound curious, or playful. I'm not having a casual conversation. My voice is cracking, and it's too late for me to stop it because the words are already out.

He smirks. "No. I just wanted to see that disappointed expression on your face when I say I do."

My throat contracts. My cheeks are red. I feel rage. I feel confusion. I feel like I'm going to explode all over him. How dares he? I'm used to boys being cocky, I just never expected him to be cocky.

I know all about the bets about who will take my virginity away, since I'm probably the last virgin in my class. I know how to respond to those things, because they don't affect me at all. I'm not angry at him for being cocky. I'm angry at myself for reacting to it. For having nothing to say.

Before I'm able to respond he's already crossing the street, "I'll see you later, Elena."

* * *

I'm so angry. My cheeks look like I've swallowed a blow fish, I'm puffing and huffing and still blushing. I'm going through the list of things I could have said to him, but didn't. I'm so deep into thought that I don't even notice aunt Jenna sitting by the kitchen island when I walk in.

I must look like I'm ready to explode because her eyes go wide when she sets her look on my face. Panic fills me as my eyes search for my mother who will, if she sees the color of my face, probably call the ambulance without giving me a chance to explain.

Jenna must be a mind reader because she tells me, "She's not here, she went to the store."

Panic leaves me and makes more space for the initial anger I was feeling. I drop my bag on the floor and storm off in the direction of the fridge. I can feel her eyes on me, she's not sure how to react.

I feel so many things. Anger. Sipping rage. At him. At myself. I feel ashamed. And uncomfortable. I feel like my stomach is moving inside of my body, rolling left and right, but I don't feel like I'm going to puke. It doesn't make me nauseous at all. There are some feelings I can't identify, or place, because they shouldn't even be here, not now. Like excitement. Honestly, it's exhilarating, feeling so many things at once. I didn't know a person can make you feel like this, that words can ignite such feelings in you. If I did know, I forgot. I almost smile, but my pride doesn't allow me to.

I learn something new about myself. I'm a proud person.

I take a box of ice cream out of the freezer and a spoon out of the top drawer, assuming a spot next to aunt Jenna and digging in like a starving person. Cookie dough. My favorite.

"I saw you talking to the younger Salvatore brother," she says casually.

I look at her from the corner of my eye. She's going through some magazine, just casually chit chatting.

"Mhm," I say with a mouthful.

"Do you remember him? From when you were kids?" "

No," I say firmly. It's a lie I started to believe in myself.

"Liar."

I whip my head up, shifting my attention from ice cream to her. If she knows I'm lying, do others know as well?

She's smiling. She's actually smiling at my misfortune.

"What's so funny?" I furrow my brows.

She looks at me carefully to make sure I'm not really mad. Then, she closes the magazine and clasps her hands on top of it. "I gave up thinking that this day would come. My 17 year old niece finally acting like an actual teenage girl," she says excitedly.

Am I? Why is she so excited about it? I know how much my mother would hate the thought of it.

"Talking to a boy, getting upset, attacking a box of ice cream like it's your biggest enemy," she whistles blissfully, like this is the best thing that has happened to her.

"I really don't remember him," I try to make her believe me, "It was such a long time ago."

Jenna smiles at my effort, which is probably only making it more obvious that I indeed do remember him. "That's what I said as well," she says, "But your mother said nonsense. Elena never forgets anything that made her smile, so how would she forget a person? And I know better than to fight your mother on these things."

Of course, mothers know best. And in this case, that is the truth. Sometimes I feel like my mother knows me better than I know myself, and not just because she's noisy about everything I do. I mean the things happening in my head, things I'm not ready to deal with or even admit to myself. Mothers are like silent observers, always watching. You don't have secrets from them unless they allow you the luxury of thinking that you do.

I lower my head and eat my ice cream in silence.

"So, are you going to the party?" Jenna asks.

Why are everyone so intent on me going to that party?

"How do you know about it?" "

Elena, please," she says, almost offended that I even asked. Sometimes I forget aunt Jenna is not that old. Well, not as old as most aunts are. I guess she's just few years older than Damon. "Are you going?" she asks again since I didn't really give her an answer the first time around.

"No," I take the remaining ice cream back to the freezer and wash the spoon.

Her next words make my whole body go stiff. "You know Elena, it's okay to have fun," the muscles in my shoulders start to hurt as I keep the spoon under hot water, "Living your life is not tempting fate."

I don't say anything until my body relaxes. I fake a smile as I turn around to say a lie I've said so many times before, "I know aunt Jenna, I just don't feel like going."

I put the spoon in its place, kiss her on the cheek and go up to my room, where I don't have to lie, because those four walls understand. They have seen too much not to.


	4. Chapter 4

Humans are bipolar by their nature.

It's still a mystery to me, how you can want something as much as not want it at the same time. I'll probably leave this world with that mystery unsolved, just like so many before me did as well. Maybe you understand it before you go, maybe you get all the answers in that moment when all those answers seem pointless and irrelevant, when the only thing you can do I say one last _oh_ and shrug it off.

When I close the doors of my bedroom behind me, I can release the stinging truth resting on my lips, surviving on my flesh. The walls of my room are soundproof, or at least I like to think they are. No one can hear my screams, and words just sink into them, like they're made out of rubber. They hold so many secrets, unwanted thoughts and words too raw for my gentle mouth. They take everything in, like a friend who's always there or an enemy that refuses to give up, I'm not sure which.

I feel comfortable here, away from everyone else. People who want to poke my body and the ones who want to take a peak inside of my head.

I want to go to this party. I want to buy a new dress, a short one that reaches that spot just above my knees, color of sunset stained with red wine. I want to leave my feet on the dance floor, to have my toes sore days after, a pleasantly painful reminder of the time spent among friends, dancing like we know life won't ever be as good as this again. I want to have coke in a tall glass and spike it with wine, I want to have shots handed to me between every new drink. I want to let my hair go wild, I want to remind my limbs what's it like to feel free, alive. I'm sure my whole body would feel like it's flying. I want to smile with that kind of a smile that just comes to you, not directed to anyone or induced by anything, a smile you wear in case someone is taking a photo, or if a cute boy might be watching you.

Then again, I'd rather stay home, far away from the crowd filled with sweaty, drunk people I don't want to talk with and music that means nothing to me. That way I'll protect myself from the illogical wish to be there again, next weak, next year, in ten years from now.

So I can either go to the party and regret it, or I can stay home and regret it. The only difference is that staying home won't bear any consequences. I'll be safe. I won't interact with anyone, I won't be a part of anything. Time will stop, just like it stopped all those years ago.

I throw myself on the top of my bed with such force that I get a mild headache as soon as I land. I take a pillow and press it against my face and I scream into it. Only a muffled sound can be heard, only if you're standing right next to me. Soon enough that will disappear as well and the only thing I'll be able to hear is a quiet hum my ears had gotten used to, like ventilation or the fridge making those unnerving sounds every house has, especially during the night, when everything else is quiet, or the shower running down the hall. My screams have become so frequent in this household that even if anyone can hear them they're not paying attention because the sound is always present.

If Caroline hadn't kidnapped me to look at dresses, if Bonnie wasn't her accomplice, if aunt Jenna wasn't asking questions about it, this party would probably be the last thing on my mind. It would be just another sting among all the other things I'm missing out on, all the things I'll be missing out on once I'm gone.

And Stefan.. _Stefan._

He's the last thing I need in my life right now. I don't need another friend, another person to miss me. And I certainly don't need a boyfriend. I wouldn't even know what to do with him. I'm not actually that friendly with any of the girlfriend duties, even though from all the stories Caroline has told me I'm a theoretical pro on all things teenage boys.

I'm not sure why I care so much about Stefan Salvatore. He walked out of my life seven years ago and I've barely thought about him since. It's like having a walking, talking memory walk right back into your life, taking your breath away, because you have stashed it in that part of your mind you thought you will never have to reach for again. Where all the memories that make you sad, or hurt, for whatever reason, when you think about them, go.

I don't remember how I felt when Stefan left. He was my friend, so I can imagine myself being unhappy about it, but I can't remember the actual feeling. Maybe I was too young to remember. Maybe I've buried those feelings deep inside, refusing to remember.

I do know there's something about him - some fondness - like finding your favorite stuffed animal in a box in the attic.

He makes my insides smile and that's a dangerous weapon to hold over someone like me, whose insides are falling apart, rotting away. I'm not sure I can handle the weight of his smile.

He's here only, what, few days, and it feels like it's been weeks. He's on my mind a lot, either I'm thinking about him, or listening to others talk about him. They talk because he's big news. Well, every news in Mystic Falls is big news since nothing ever happens here.

I think about him because thinking about him makes me feel, well, everything. When you cut yourself out of life, when you go from day to day like a statue, all the emotions tend to flow away from you, like they're avoiding you. Or maybe there's a shield around you, keeping them from coming in. But when I think about him, I'm reminiscing. I feel like I own a part of him, I feel like these memories are worth too much to be exchanged or shared. I can feel the past pulling me in.

My limbs can't stay in this position anymore, I feel sore, and not in a good way. I get up from the bed and walk over to the window, removing the curtains to the side. Curtains I've basically glued to the window to prevent anything from coming in. This is my safe place, nothing can get in unless I allow it to. A beam of sunlight comes in and when my eyes get adjusted to it, I look in the direction of Stefan's house.

My eyes get filled with panic and a gasp gets stuck in my throat because I think he had seen me, but he didn't. He's not even looking in this direction. He's standing by the side as a car pulls into his driveway. An elderly woman comes out of the car, she's fast, her movements are ones of a young woman, but her face is much older than her body feels. I can see that even behind all of this light. Stefan kisses her cheek. I don't know why, but the corners of my lips start going up and they keep doing so despite my efforts to keep them down. The woman is probably his mom.

His hair looks so bright in the sun, almost transparent, see through. He says something to his mom and she smiles, widely. I wonder could he make me smile like that as well. I haven't smiled like that in quite some time.

I remember his mom from when we were little. She always looked tired even though she didn't have a job, she was a stay at home mom. Cooking, cleaning, washing, baking, taking care of the boys, that was her job. She was always nice to me and never asked me _don't I think I've had enough_ when I reached for another cookie. I remember Stefan saying the doctors thought he's a girl, that his mom always wanted a girl. Now I realize that maybe he thought he's not enough, or that he's a disappointment, but I don't think that was the case. She was so loving towards him. I remember thinking they share the same eyes, even the amount of sadness in them. Because she always looked sad as well. Sad and tired.

Neither of them looks like that anymore. Her face seems old, much older than it should, but she looks happy. He looks happy as well as he helps her get the grocery bags out of the trunk. He towers over her, it seems that he towers over everyone now. Tall and strong, his muscles visible even through a hoodie.

I guess that has something to do with some other things he makes me feel. It's not that I can't see any other hot boys around me, or that I'm not attracted to them. I can see every one of them, but I've learned how to ignore those emotions every time one of them stands close by me, or every time Matt drops his arm over my shoulders. I've looked at Stefan's back few times I've seen him walk away. His muscles tensing and relaxing, staying in place even when every other part of his body is moving.

When him and his mom shut the front door behind them, I let the curtains fall back in place and press myself against a wall. My palms are sweaty when I touch the wall, so sweaty that I'm afraid they will leave ugly, gray marks on my sunny yellow paint. I close my eyes as my head sinks into the concrete like it's some kind of a comfortable pillow, and inhale deeply.

He makes me feel nostalgic. Seeing him makes me want to break free. I want to run and fly and swim. I want to climb the highest mountain nearby. He makes me want forbidden things, like kisses and wishes and plans and promises. He makes me think I should crumble my _not to do_ list with my fingers, into a ball, and step on it. Burn it. Make it disappear.

He's a stranger. He's no one. He means nothing to me. But he makes me feel everything I've forbid myself from feeling. He makes me want things.

He's like an unwanted guest, opening the doors of my bedroom, inviting foreign things in. Things that don't belong here, things I never agreed to having.

I can't let him do that.

* * *

The night is unseasonably warm tonight. I'm lying in my bed in an oversized shirt, wide awake, unable to fall asleep. I've thrown the covers and pillows on the floor, and now I'm thinking about getting rid of the sheet which is constantly gluing itself to my exposed skin. I've even cracked the window open to let some air in, but it's not helping, it's only making the matter worse.

At one point I decide that reassembling my whole bed would be too much trouble so I decide to go for a run. I put on my running gear and quietly sneak out of the house. I've seen people running around with earphones wrapped around them, music blasting in their ears, cutting themselves from the world. I don't have that option since I'm usually running in the middle of the night so I have to be aware of every sound surrounding me. Even if I did have that option, I don't think I would take it. What's the point of running outside if you just tune everything out?

I start running after I move from my house so the noise doesn't wake my parents up. I have my usual rout, I make a full circle and come back home from the other direction. It usually takes me an hour, which means I'll have more than enough time to have a shower before I have to leave for school.

It's not completely dark outside anymore, the sky is in that transition where you can see sea blue color fighting its way through coal black colored sky. Street lights are still on, though, and there's not a living soul outside. There's no wind so my hair is still in a small bun I've managed to make out of my fairly short hair, but I can feel sweat coating my skin, especially under my clothes.

It feels incredible, to run, to move. Whenever I lift my feet of the ground I feel like I'm going to fly. Like at one point I won't come back down. I'll disintegrate and become a particle in the air, or a cloud in the sky.

I don't know for how long I run when I reach the clearance. This is my favorite part, just few blocks away from my house. Everything is so still here, no people, no sounds, no nothing. The only thing I can hear is the hum of nature and my own feet thumping against the ground.

Today is different. Today I can see someone running through the grass, in the never ending meadow. I can't see anyone, though, at least not until the shadow is so close to me that I have no time to react. I can see a long, fluffy yellow tail in the air and a small head with even smaller, bobbing ears appearing every few seconds.

It's a dog. I don't even realize it until it reaches me and cuts off my path. I come to a halt and stare at it, unsure of what to do. The dog stares right back at me. It seems I've scared him more than he scared me. When my body relaxes, he reaches me and stars cuddling against my leg. At least I think it's a he.

"Hey there," I sink my fingers into his long, warm fur. He must be so worn out by the heath underneath all that fur. "Are you lost?" I ask him. He has a collar, but not a pendant. He looks strong and well taken care for, so it's not likely that he's a stray.

He looks up at me and nuzzles my hand.

"Buzz," I hear a voice, and the dog hears it as well. I can see how well it catches his attention, how familiar the voice is to him.

I raise my look and see a figure of a human boy, far away, where meadow meets the sky. The dog barks like he's telling his owner where he is. When the boy hears the bark, he stars running in our direction.

The dog, Buzz apparently, is now sitting on my left sneaker, drooling all over my hand.

"There you are," the owners voice is now close to us, I can feel the proximity of his body.

_Fuck_, is what I think to myself. I don't even have to raise my look to see who it is. His voice is a frequent visitor in my head these last couple of days.

I keep my head down while petting the dog. He seems to be enjoying my touch because every time I pull my fingers through his fur, his licks them appreciatively.

"I hope he didn't give you much trouble," I wonder can he recognize me as well, or am I just a stranger by the road to him, "He never does that. He never runs away. I was messing with him and he couldn't find his ball so he freaked out," he's nervous, and I think about how cute that is. I give myself a mental slap because of that thought.

"It's okay," I smile at Buzz.

"Elena?" he says my name with a tone full of surprise, which answers my question did he recognize me or not.

I take a deep breath, mentally, and look up, feigning surprise as well. "Oh, Stefan, hey," I say casually, or at least I hope so. I hope that my voice sounds as calm on the outside as it did in my mind.

There's a confused frown on the bridge of his nose when he asks, "What are you doing here."

All of a sudden I feel really cold, despite all the heath. It's Spring, but it feels like Indian Summer, and I'm shaking like it's the middle of Winter. Goosebumps appear on my skin. "I couldn't sleep, so I went for a run," being casual is not so hard to fake this time because, this time, I'm actually telling the truth.

He looks at me, from head to toe. I feel.. small, as he watches me. There are sweaty, lose strands of hair flying around my head. My skin is probably shiny from sweat as well. I stink. My eyes are probably fallen in because I haven't slept at all.

"Oh, right," he says once he realizes I'm in my running outfit, "Well, this one couldn't sleep too," he looks down at his dog, "So he decided to not let me sleep either," he smiles a smile which makes me smile as well.

He's so beautiful, I realize, in a way boys shouldn't be beautiful.

He's wearing sweats and an ordinary green shirt that's obviously been slept in. His hair is ruffled as well. He's not even trying, but he makes my bones shake.

I don't know what to say so I just smile to him.

He seems rattled by the lack of words from my part. "We're headed home now, so we'll let you go back to your running," he says before turning his back to me. He starts walking away, but when he notices that the dog doesn't follow, he stops. "Buzz, come on," he calls for him.

But Buzz doesn't make a move. He's still sitting on my sneaker, cuddling against my leg, which is full of dog hair now. Stefan smiles and shakes his head as he approaches his dog. He crouches down and puts his hand on Buzz's head. The closed space between us cuts off my air supply. He's too close to me. "I see how it is," he says with a smile on his lips, "You leave me as soon as a pretty girl comes by."

He says it so casually that I almost miss it. I would miss it if my brain didn't soak his words in like a sponge. His words make my heart race faster. _Pretty_.

I try not to sound nervous, or affected by him, as I say, "I'll walk with you."

When I move, Buzz moves with me. I've met this dog ten minutes ago and I already love him.

"He likes you," Stefan says, and I can sense little bit of jealousy in his voice, "A lot," especially when he says those words. I smile as I look down at Buzz.

"He seems like a great dog," I say honestly. I always wanted a dog. I almost got one, but then my mom got pregnant with Jeremy and my parents didn't want the dog in the same house with the baby. When Jeremy got older, I got sick. They didn't want a dog then either.

We don't say much after that, and I fear this awkward silence will keep hanging above our heads the whole way home, which is good fifteen minutes by foot from where we are now.

"So, did you give another thought about the party?" he asks and I wish for the awkward silence to come back.

"What's it to you?" I'm annoyed by him asking me that question again, I'm annoyed by everyone urging me to go like that party is some life changing event, but my question doesn't come of as annoyed, but rather playful, something I didn't even know I'm capable of.

He seems stunned by my question at first, but recovers quickly, "Your friends seem really stoked about it, so I find it weird that you're not the same."

_Oh_. "I'm not really one of those party people," I say, but you can hear the doubt in my voice. I don't know if I'm a party person, because I never tried to be one. All I tried is to stay away from myself, from getting to know myself.

"That's okay," he says and I feel relief because someone finally accepted my answer, even if it's only half true, without asking any additional questions. "I just really hoped you'll come," he adds after few seconds of silence.

Apologize. Smile. Nod. Don't say anything. Do any of those things Elena, just don't ask what I think you're going to ask.

"Why?" the question slips off of my tongue, and I curse myself for it.

He shrugs. "It would be nice to have a familiar face there. I don't really know anyone else."

My bones freeze inside of my body. They're as hard as rocks, making my movements almost impossible. His words weigh too much for me to carry them on a rope around my neck. They're pulling my down.

My throat contracts. "You don't know me either."

I can see him smile from the corner of my eyes. His lips are like a well oiled machine, smiling comes naturally to him, like that's how his lips are supposed to be shaped. "Sure I do. Chubby. Pigtails. Pink dresses. Consumed a wicked number of cookies."

The world closes in around me. I can't believe we're having this conversation.

I can feel him digging his way in. He wants to crawl inside of me and live there. You can't plant a garden on a soil that has no life in it.

_Run, run, run_, I think, but I don't know if I'm talking to him or to myself.

_Run boy, there's nothing for you here, my body is not your home. My body is an unstable building and I refuse to let it collapse on you._

"A lot of things have changed since then," my voice sounds foreign to me.

"Some are still the same," he counters me.

I can feel him looking at me, but I can't force myself to look at him.

It takes some time for me to speak again, "I remember too."

It's a mistake, what I've said. I shouldn't have said it.

But if it's a wrong thing to say, how come it feels so right?

"I know," he replies, then adds after some time, "I'm just trying to figure out why you said you don't," those words hit the red button in my brain.

I feel like my whole body is falling into shock.

At first I think I feel weak as a side effect to his words, but that's not the case. The nausea is real. The only thing I ate yesterday was a smoothie and few spoons of ice cream, I didn't get enough calories. I ran. I didn't sleep at all.

_No_, I say as I squeeze my eyes shut, _not here, not in front of him_.

I feel dizzy. My stomach is running in circles.

I can see my house, even though everything is hazy. I'm so tired. I wish I could lie down for a moment. Or a century.

"I have to go," I say in a hurry, those four words stumbling over each other to come out, to break free, that I'm not sure he even understands them. It doesn't even matter because I'm running across my lawn, dragging my body on my bony legs that at this point feel like matchsticks, trying to reach the back of my house. So my parents don't hear me. So Stefan can't see me.

I don't know if it's luck or fate, but I make it. As soon as I round the corner I puke in my mothers gardenias.

* * *

"Aren't you little old to be going to parties?" I can hear my mothers voice as soon as I step down from the last stair at the bottom.

"Miranda, I'm 24," aunt Jenna replies. I can see her rolling her eyes without actually having to see her face.

"Exactly," my mother answers with that tone of voice which indicates that she's always right, "24, not 14. You should be looking for a husband, and they're not hiding in a bar."

Now I roll my eyes. My parents have been together since High School. They fell in love at the age of 16 and were lucky enough to stay in love to this day. When you're a kid, you romanticize that notion, but as you grow up, you realize that kind of a love is one in a million. My mother means well, but despite the popular belief, she doesn't always know best. She doesn't know how it's like to be unloved. Or how it's like to have an uncertain future.

"I'm not looking for a husband," aunt Jenna says through her teeth. She's holding herself back, as usual.

"Well, maybe that's the problem," my mother answers casually with, of course, best intentions, completely missing out on Jenna's tone. Being subtle is not one of Miranda Gilbert's stronger sides, nor is picking up subtlety one.

"Good morning!" I barge in and greet cheerfully before my mother says another wrong set of words.

Aunt Jenna smiles at me, but my mother looks at me like she always does - like there's something wrong with me.

My father appears from behind me, planting a kiss on the side of my head. "Morning, sunshine," he says as he grabs a bagel, assumes his position by the kitchen island and opens today's newspapers. I often wonder how he tunes my mother and aunt Jenna out to concentrate on what he's reading.

"Hungry?" my mother asks, pointing at the rich breakfast selection on the counter.

I'm ready to say no when I remember I didn't eat anything yesterday either and now there's vomit in our backyard.

"Sure," I say with a smile. I sit next to aunt Jenna, scouting for something to eat. My stomach starts spinning at the mere thought of consummating certain food, so in the end I decide to eat banana pancakes.

"I asked Elena does she want to go to a party as well," aunt Jenna bumps me with her elbow, and I have to hold onto the counter not to fall off of my chair. I still feel weak, but I'm sure I'll feel much better once I get some food into my stomach.

My mother laughs. She actually laughs. I can't blame her, it's not like I ever went to a party. Still, it stings.

"I'm not sure you can just invite other people to parties," my dad comments, and I smile. Sometimes he's so old fashioned.

"Elena doesn't need my invitation, she's already been invited," Jenna says proudly, like getting invited to a party is an accomplishment.

My father doesn't even lift his eyes from the papers when he asks, "And what party is this?"

"Salvatore's welcome back party. Elena knows the younger boy, he goes to school with her," I hate it when they do this, talk about me like I'm not even present.

When my father doesn't ask another question, probably because a) he doesn't care b) his full attention is on the papers, my mother decides to release her voice, "Elena is not a type of a girl who would go to a party, anyway."

This upsets me. Irks me. But I swallow the bitterness because, again, I never gave her a reason to think otherwise.

"And what type is that?" apparently, aunt Jenna can't swallow hers. Her voice sounds hostile, and she rarely gets defensive with my mother. When I look at her, there's an angry frown on her face. My father has noticed it as well, and now he's not reading the paper anymore, even though he's hiding behind it. "A normal, teenage girl?" she challenges my mother.

I wonder will she actually say it. Will she actually say that I'm not able to go to the party because I have cancer.

It takes her some time to answer, but when she does, she does it so calmly, like she's discussing her flowers with our first door neighbor. She either didn't notice Jenna's unfriendly tone, or she decided to ignore it. "Well, she's not a normal teenage girl, is she now?"

_Bingo._

"Miranda.." my father says her name calmly, gently, but she doesn't react to it.

Instead, she says, "There's something wrong with her. We all know it, so why pretend otherwise?"

_Not normal. Wrong._

She's making me feel like I don't belong, again. Like I'm an alien who can't fit with the rest of the society. Like the only place I belong in is a hospital, in my gown, with others like me. People who have unwanted seeds in them, which grow into hideous, flesh eating plants.

She's making me feel abnormal just because I'm sick.

"There are some things she can't do that other girls her age can, and I think Elena is aware of that," she concludes, which is when it hits me.

I always thought it's my choice, not going to parties, not participating. But it's not. She's telling me that I can't do it. Has she always been telling me, have I always been listening to her instructions?

"But I can," I say, and all three of them shift their attention to me.

Aunt Jenna, most surprised out of three of them, fighting for a cause she doesn't even believe in. My father, surprised, but not necessarily unpleasantly. And my mother, looking at me like there's something wrong with me, again.

I feel like all this time I've been sleeping and someone finally woke me up. _I can do it_. I'm not my disease. I have all of my limbs. All of my organs are working properly. I walk and talk and learn and drive. I run without their knowledge. I can dance if I want to. I have friends who I love. I have friends who miss me.

I'm not attacking my mother, but I'm not attacking myself anymore either. For the first time in forever, I'm standing up for myself.

I'm defending myself.

"Elena, sweetie," she says gently, whispering, luring me into safety.

"I think she should go," my father says, surprising us all. Mostly me. "If she wants to."

I've been resenting my father for a very long time, because he broke down. When they told us I have cancer, my first thought was that my mother won't be able to handle it. I thought it will destroy her, to have an imperfect daughter, a living corpse in her house. I thought my disease will wreck her, as I've always perceived my mother as weak. I couldn't have been more wrong. My mother might be all sorts of things, but she's strong. When my condition was the worst, when the doctors thought I won't make it, she wasn't a warrior, she was the whole army.

None of us cried. I didn't cry because I knew if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop. Jeremy didn't cry because they never told him how serious my condition is. My mother didn't cry because she had time. If aunt Jenna cried she did so in the privacy of her own home, and if my friends cried they told me nothing of the sort.

But my father cried. He cried every chance he got. When he would come to visit me in a hospital, he would come with tears in his eyes, and I knew he was sitting in his car, crying, before he came in. When they sent me home, I've heard him crying to my mother how they've sent me home to die. I've heard her rocking him to sleep. My father, a grown man, her husband.

I resented him for being weak. Actually, I resented him because he was allowed to cry. I wanted to cry as well.

But it also made me realize how much my father loves me, and how much the thought of losing me scares him.

I've never been daddy's girl, but I've never been my mothers daughter either. I always had a healthy relationship with my parents, but the family member I'm closest to is aunt Jenna. She's old enough to take care of me, but young enough to be my friend.

When I got better, my father stopped crying. Instead, he started planning activities for us to do, and marking places for us to visit. I said no every time he would ask. I don't know why. Maybe to see the disappointment in his eyes. Maybe to give him a reason to cry.

Today, I wish I said yes to everything he planned for us. I wish he never stopped asking.

"Grayson," my mother sounds lost, like she lost her right hand, her backup.

"She's been locked up long enough, Miranda," he says, looking at me, "There's no point in preventing her from doing things she wants to do."

"So Elena," Jenna says excitedly, "Do you want to go?" she asks me again.

I feel like this is the moment when I'm supposed to decide. I feel like things are changing.

I take my phone out and dial Caroline's number. When she answers, I say, "I think I'll be needing that dress after all."


	5. Chapter 5

I don't know what made me change my mind.

Maybe it was my stubbornness. Fear that my choices aren't my choices at all, nothing more than decisions induced by my mothers thoughts and rules. I don't want to live my life just because someone else thinks that's how I should be living it. I'm following enough of her rules as it is, I don't want her into manipulating me into thinking I'm choosing something when, in fact, the choice has been hers all along.

Maybe it has nothing to do with my mother. Maybe I've realized I've been deluding myself all along, pushing myself closer to death than cancer ever could. By preventing myself from doing all the things I actually want to be doing just because I'm afraid that one day they will serve more harm than pleasure.

I'm not ready to destroy my _not to do_ list. There are still things I probably shouldn't do, like fall in love. Become a part of someones life when all I can do is leave them. Risking with the possibility of harming myself by allowing myself these little things like going to a party is one thing, but playing with someone's else life is a whole other story. One I'm not ready to write, nor will I ever be.

When Caroline asked me what made me change my mind, though, I didn't know how to answer her question. I just shrugged it off and said nothing in particular, I just did. She was too excited to ask anymore questions.

Bonnie couldn't come to the mall with us, which meant I had to deal with Caroline and her inner shopaholic all by myself. I was never a big fan of shopping. Or maybe I've never let myself enjoy it. I don't know.

Recently I'm coming to the terms that, while trying to be normal, I was actually preventing myself from being normal. Maybe I'm my own worst enemy.

I still don't know if I actually enjoy shopping, but I did enjoy spending my time with Caroline. I love how excited she gets over thing that mean something to her, weather big or small. She finds happiness in everything, and I think it's contagious. I can't believe that, after years of knowing her, I've only now met this side of her. I feel that by missing out on all the things I made myself believe I'm better for missing, I also missed a lot of things I never wanted to miss at all.

After what felt like hours, Caroline and me finally agreed on a dress for me to wear. It was a tough job, since to say our tastes differ is an understatement. I like light, girly, flowery, safe. Caroline likes to experiment. She goes from one extreme to another.

It's a small, red, sleeveless dress, with its back cut, with tiny ruffles on the hips.

"She looks like a goddess in it," Caroline squeals at Jenna while taking another brownie from the freshly baked lot.

Jenna smiles satisfyingly, putting my dress back into the bag. "You'll have to show me how it looks on you later, I can't wait until Saturday!" Jenna reaches for a brownie herself. They can eat all they want without worrying about not having enough. When my mother feels any kind of pressure, she bakes. I suspect this is just her first batch out of many. We will probably have enough for the following month.

"Mom," I say cautiously, "What do you think?" I've caught checking the dress out from the corner of her eye while pretending she's not interested.

She stays quiet for a while, mixing the ingredients into the bowl. "It's nice," she says calmly, like she usually does. In that stiff, Stafford wife tone, "I'm just wondering where's the rest of it."

I look at Caroline, her eyes wide, her lips pulled into a tight line. She looks a little offended, hurt, but she keeps her mouth shut. She knows better than to get into a discussion with my mom.

Jenna rolls her eyes, as if this is exactly what she expected my mother would say.

For once, I wish, she wasn't so overprotective. I wish she would see me for who I am - a 17 year old girl, her daughter, someone who spent too much time being poked and prodded and has had it enough. I wish she would look at me and see someone other than a weak, helpless girl who pukes without warning and bleeds without cause.

"Elena?" Caroline says my name, but when I look at her, I notice that she's not looking at me. She's looking through our kitchen window, her full attention on something I can't see from my spot.

"Yeah?" I ask, suddenly curious about what got her attention. Caroline rarely acts like this, things never fascinate her enough to give them more than just few seconds of her time. She says there are so many things to be excited about so it's silly to lose so much time over just one.

"Does Stefan Salvatore live in a house across from you?" she still doesn't shift her attention to me, not even when she asks that question. Not even when the only answer I give her is silence.

Her questions knocks the air right out of my lungs. I'm afraid that she knows. I'm afraid that she knows everything. I'm afraid she knows he's been on my mind and that, after cancer, he's the first thing to occupy so much of my time. I'm afraid she knows about our unexpected meeting and unfinished conversations.

I'm afraid because I wanted to be the one to tell her.

"Yeah. Why?" I finally answer, when I gather enough courage.

She doesn't get off of the chair, but leans a little to get a better look. "Because he's in his driveway. Washing a car. Shirtless."

Aunt Jenna chokes on the brownie she's currently eating, and I can see my mother twitch a little to Caroline's comment. We all sit still for a moment, my mother red in face, me looking at my crossed hands on the table before me, Jenna trying to catch air and Caroline still staring through the window.

"Where are you going?" I hear Caroline's voice.

I lift my look to see Jenna walking towards the sink, which is settled under the kitchen window.

"To get a glass of water," she says innocently. Too innocently.

"Liar!" Caroline exclaims, hopping off the chair and joining Jenna in front of the window, "You're going to check him out!"

My mothers face becomes redder, and I blush as well, but for different reasons.

"Honestly, Jenna, aren't you a little bit too old for this?" my mother asks, clearly unsatisfied with what's going on in her kitchen.

But aunt Jenna ignores her. Instead, she keeps bumping shoulders with Caroline, whispering and giggling. Sometimes I forget how young Jenna is.

I feel a pang of jealousy. I want to participate as well. I want to giggle and gossip and talk about boys with them as well. But whenever anyone talks about anything remotely related to boys or kissing or sex, I feel so out of place. I never know what to say.

I remember Stefan's defined muscles moving under his shirt. I want to see him as well.

I slip off of the chair, slowly, quietly, so no one notices. My mother is so worked up over Jenna and Caroline's behavior that she doesn't even notice when I move, and I stand right behind my aunt and my friend, settling my head in the empty space between theirs.

I can see him, washing the car his mom got out of the other day. It's still unseasonably warm outside, so I can see why he would take his shirt off while working. His sweatpants are soaked, at places covered with foam.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" I can hear Caroline whispers into my ear so my mother doesn't hear. I don't know if Jenna hears and, at this point, I don't really care.

I am enjoying myself. He's a sight to see. His arms are strong, making you believe they can shelter you from everything. His muscles are big, but not too big, not in a way that makes a man look ugly. They're moving accordingly with his limbs, but at the same time they give you an impression that they're not moving at all.

But, for me, it's not about he looks. It's about how he moves. So free, so secure in himself. He shields himself from everything that might come his way, everything bad and unexpected. He gives me an impression that he would have hit my cancer with a bat and send it flying off if he saw it coming.

His body is strong, unbreakable, healthy. Everything mine isn't.

"Who is that?" Caroline snarls.

Her voice wakes me up from a trans and I look at the girl walking his way. Tall, platinum blonde hair, walks like she owns the whole street. She carries herself with confidence I've only seen in Caroline.

"It's that girl we've seen him with at the mall," she recognizes her at the same time that I do.

She says something to Stefan and he looks up at her, smiling. He flickers a little bit of foam towards her, with his finger, laughing. She punches him in the arm, but she's not angry, she's laughing as well. Then, she walks up to the house and goes in.

"Oh," Jenna says disappointingly, "Is that his girlfriend."

Caroline shrugs with a frown between her eyes.

"No," I say. Jenna jumps a little, like she didn't notice me standing there. Caroline whips her head towards me, but I don't look at her as I say next words, "He doesn't have a girlfriend."

Caroline's face twists into surprise. "And how would you know?"

Now, I look at her, trying to stay calm. "Because he told me," I say without blinking. My face is blank. I hope that my face is blank.

"You talked to him?" she asks, mixed feelings evident in her voice. Mostly, she's surprised. After a long period of silence, she squeals excitedly, a smile painting her features, "Elena Marie Gilbert! How did you forget to mention that?"

I don't know what to say. I don't know how to play this game. I didn't know this is something I was obligated to share.

Or maybe I did know, I just chose not to. Because if I do, I'm giving it importance.

Because if I do, it lose its importance. I wanted to selfishly keep it for myself, to make is my own.

"I don't know why you're so surprised, Caroline," my mother reminds us of her presence in the worst moment possible, with worst possible words, "Stefan and Elena used to be good friends when they were younger."

Caroline's smile subsides, and disappointment colors her features. She seems sad.. sad I kept this from her. Sad I didn't share this with her. But she doesn't let it show for too long. She smiles again, asking playfully, "Really?"

"Oh yes," my mother answers cheerfully, not aware that she made both of us feel worse than she did. Her for realizing how bad of a friend she has, and me for being a bad friend.

"Is that why you decided to go to the part after all?" she asks, but I can tell she doesn't expect an answer, because she turns her head from me to the window, looking back at Stefan.

"No," I say anyway, looking at her profile. She seems sad, like Stefan used to when we were little. Maybe that's what my presence does to people.

* * *

I'm nervous as I put on my dress. It's so tight, wrapping around my body like second skin. All of a sudden it feels too short and too bright, my body feels like a pillow and everything is falling out. I'm too fat and too skinny for it at the same time.

I walk around the room a little, in my dress and my heels, to adjust to the feeling. If it were any another Saturday, I would be in my PJ's now, ready to read a book or watch a movie or sneak into the kitchen for a snack, if my mother is not nearby to stop me.

I crack open my bedroom window and I'm met with a strong rush of warm, Spring air. It melts some of my anxiety away.

After some time, I start feeling more comfortable dressed like this. I move around my room with more confidence and grace. _I belong here_.

I don't do anything with my hair. I'm still afraid to touch it too much and too often because I have a feeling that if I do, it will fall out all over again. So I let it be just the way it is, thin, brown, plain, resting on my shoulders.

Make-up is not a problem, since I'm used to applying it. Sometimes I have a feeling I don't ever take it off.

Caroline and Bonnie will be here any second now to pick me up.

My palms are slippery as I wrap my fingers around the doorknob.

I've never been out in a club before. I've never been to a party before, at least not the kind I'm heading off to now. The last time I was at the party there were birthday hats and finger sandwiches, we played_ seven minutes in heaven_ but were too young to do anything but stare at each other awkwardly in the darkness of a tiny closet. You would be considered lucky if you got a kiss on the cheek.

I know a lot about these parties. I've seen them in the movies and I've heard about them from Caroline's stories. Booze, making out, games you're not allowed to quit because we're almost adults now.

The only thing I don't know is how I fit in the whole picture.

I go downstairs, where my parents are watching a movie. My father is the first one to notice me. I don't think he's too happy with my choice of clothing, either, but he doesn't say anything. I wish he would. I wish he would yell at me to go upstairs to change, so I can yell back at him. It would make me feel normal, because that's what normal fathers do. Mine doesn't, because he knows this is my first party and he doesn't want to make it harder for me than it is.

"Going already?" he asks, a faint smile decorating his lips.

He has his arm around my mother who is cuddled against him, her head settled in the crook of his neck. It's weird seeing my mother like this - her hair loose, falling over her shoulders, her feet bare, falling into the cushions. She looks much younger than she actually is. Seeing them like this, I can see why they stayed together all these years - they look exactly like they did at 17, sitting in the cinema.

"Yeah, Caroline and Bonnie are going to pick me up," I respond.

My mother doesn't look at me. She doesn't even acknowledge my presence. My father has noticed it as well, and he has noticed that I've noticed it, so he smiles regretfully. It doesn't even look like a smile, his lips twist into a weird shape.

"Well, have fun," he tells me, not sure what else to do. He doesn't have a lot of experience in this area, sending his teenage daughter to a party. I think he should ask something among the lines do I have enough cash, or do I need a ride home. He should tell me to stay away from alcohol and boys who only want one thing.

"Umm," I say awkwardly, "When should I be home?" I feel like the adult here.

Confusion colors his face, making it paler than it usually is. I rarely go out, so I don't have a curfew. When I do go out, it's usually during the day or early in the evening, I'm always home by 10 pm, and even that is an overstretch.

"Caroline is our ride, so is it okay for me to stay as long as her?" I ask when I notice he's at the loss of words and has no solution to provide me with.

Caroline doesn't have a curfew. Her parents are divorced. She lives with her mom who's the towns sheriff, which means she works late, sometimes even taking night shifts because she's one of the rare people at the station with a grown up daughter and no other family to come home to.

My father nods, because he doesn't know this. He never needed to know. "Sure, sweetie," his voice is soft, gentle, paternal, "Just try not to stay out too late."

I don't know what too late is by his standards. Midnight? Two, three in the morning? I don't push the issue further, though, because this way I have my freedom to stay out as long as I want.

Car horn beeps outside of our house.

"That's them," I say while turning around to leave, "Night!" I yell when I'm at the door, but as far as I can hear, neither of them answer.

I walk towards the car, with a purse and light jacket in my hands, in case I need it afterwards. It's my turn to ride in the backseat. Whoever Caroline picks up last rides in the backseat.

I have to crunch down and squeeze myself inside of Caroline's car. I'm to tall, I'm like a tree, and my bony legs are branches, poking into the passenger seat as I settle myself on my own seat.

"Hey girls," I greet them while placing my belongings on the empty seat next to me.

"Girl," Bonnie says dramatically with a high pitched tone, "What is that dress you're wearing?"

I shoot my look in her direction, my eyes filled with panic. "You don't like it?" I ask fearfully. I don't know why. I didn't know other peoples opinion mean that much to me.

Maybe they don't. Maybe Bonnie's does.

"No," she says, turning around to face me, a serious expression on her face. Caroline starts the engine, which is when Bonnie cracks a smile, "I love it!" she says excitedly, and I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off of my chest. "You look absolutely gorgeous!"

I can feel myself blushing, but I don't care. "Thanks Bonnie, so do you," I smile at her.

She smiles back at me and turns around because with Caroline driving you want to see what's ahead of you. Especially when that something could be a certain death while she's putting her mascara on.

"I know someone else who will love it as much as we do," Caroline says with a sing song voice.

"Please, Matt would think Elena looks amazing even if she were wearing a potato bag," Bonnie says dryly.

I meet Caroline's look in the mirror. I know she's not talking about Matt.

It's weird, having a secret with Caroline, one Bonnie is not in on. It's usually the other way around. Bonnie and me, we have a quiet understanding, but somehow I've missed that Caroline is capable of such relationship as well.

When we arrive at the club, it seems like we're the only ones missing. The area in front of the entrance is crowded with people, sweaty guys and girls in tight dresses. I can see some people in the far back, puking. Bright, colorful lights are shinning through the windows of the club, and loud music fills my ears, even from this distance.

Caroline and Bonnie take their lipsticks out, repairing their already perfect lips in small mirrors they hide in their purses. I forgot my lipstick at home and I don't even think I own a mirror that could fit into my purse. I feel out of place, like an intruder in their own personal ritual.

Caroline puckers her lips, smacks them three times in a row and puts both the mirror and the lipstick back into her purse. "Okay girls, we're doing this," Bonnie does the same with her own make-up. The two of them look at each other, like I'm not even there, maybe they forgot about my presence because they're not used to it, and smile widely. Then, they start getting out of the car and I follow their lead.

We start walking towards the entrance of the club. People are staring at us, those who are not are getting their ribs kicked with someones elbow in order to stare at us as well. They're whispering.

Caroline is used to it, and I guess Bonnie is as well. My friends are a part of Mystic Falls social elite, so whispers and rumors follow them wherever they go.

But tonight is different, because no one is whispering about them. I can hear them whispering about me. Everyone are surprised to see me here. To some I'm known as shy, introverted, ill, while to others I'm stubborn and self-centered, someone who thinks everyone are bellow her. Ones pity me, others hate me, but tonight, both groups are equally surprised. Tonight, I'm none of those adjectives they give me, I'm not even Elena Gilbert. Well, to them, I never was, instead I always was something they knew or thought about me. That girl who has cancer. That girl who hangs out with Caroline Forbes. That girl who has all the answers to all the questions every teacher asks because all she does is study.

Now, I'm that girl who showed up at the party for the first time in High School.

And everyone are wondering why. Well, at least those who are sober enough.

I want to shrink into myself, I want to open my mouth wide enough so swallow my whole body, to make myself disappear.

I think Caroline and Bonnie can hear them whispering as well, because each of them takes one of my hands in their and squeezes it tightly with their fingers.

I realize I'm not alone. There's no reason to hide, because there's no _me_, there's only _us_. The three of us, like it should be, together in this. I'm taller than my friends, towering over them, especially in these heals. I'm skinnier, bonier than them. I'm sure as hell more nervous than them. All three of us have different skin complexions and different hair color, we're as different as different can get.

But right now, walking towards the entrance with all these people surrounding us, we're the same. We're equal. We're one.

We walk into the crowded club. There are people everywhere, half of the school must be here, plus some older people, aunt Jenna's age. I don't know if I'll be able to find her in this crowd, or do I even want to. She's probably having fun with her friends, she doesn't need her socially unadapted niece to ruin it.

I can see why people like it here. It's dark, but not too dark that you can't see other people. Dark blue color of the walls is soothing. There are lights all around us, blue, yellow, red, purple, coming out of the floors, walls, even the ceiling. I can see the DJ in the far back left corner of the room, while in the other there's a huge bar. Tables are placed near the walls, four stools surrounding each, making space for a big dance floor in the middle. Whenever you step on a certain tile, it changes its color.

Some people turn around to look at us, ones that know us from school. Some don't even notice us. There are too many people in here and I never thought I would consider such a wide crowd a plus. They're talking, laughing, dancing, having fun. I can't believe I'm a part of this.

"Hey, there are Tyler and Matt," Caroline points with her finger through the crowd. I don't even know how she managed to notice them among all these people. "Follow me," she gives my hand another tight squeeze and instinctively, I do the same to Bonnie. We form a line, linked to each other, with Caroline on the head, leading us towards the boys we know.

When we reach them Caroline lets go of my hand and throws her arms around Tyler's neck, pulling him in for a hug. He puts his arms around her waist, the tips of his fingers on the small of her back, making small circles. Something rushes through me, some weird mix of jealousy and regret and need for intimacy, it makes me want to jump out of my own skin.

"Elena?" I can hear someone saying my name, but the voice is distorted by the music, lost in all these other voices. I look at the direction of where I think the voice came from and realize it was Matt. He's looking at me wide eyed, clearly surprised to see me here. I guess no one told him I'm coming.

"Hey," I try to force a smile on my face but it ends up all wrong.

"What are you doing here?" his brows are furrowed, but he's smiling, so his expression looks weird. He looks confused, but also happy to be confused, which throws me off. I don't know what I'm doing here. It's kind of obvious what I'm doing here. Pick one, whichever you look the most.

All of a sudden there's a hand on my hip. Not squeezing it, it's more there gesturing me to move, to push me away itself. I freeze. I can feel the presence of another person, so close to me, another body pressing next to mine. Tall. Strong. My body is reacting positively to the touch, but my mind is railing. The air is hotter, the music becomes louder, my dress starts shrinking on my body, falling into my skin.

Then, when I hear his voice, everything else disappears. I don't care about the hot air threatening to coat my skin with sweat, and the music doesn't seem so loud anymore, it dies down in my ears and his voice is the only thing I can hear.

"Elena," my name sounds so soft in his mouth, he says it in a way I've never heard someone saying it before, each syllable adapting some new, unknown form, "You came."

He squeezes by me, now standing in front of me, a smile on his face. His hand is no longer on my hip, I can see it dangling by the side of his body, but I can still feel it there, at the spot where it was just a moment ago. I wish he squeezed me harder, I wish his fingers went into my flesh, I wish his hand left a physical mark on my body as a proof that it's actually been there.

For a moment, for a single fragment of a second, as our eyes meet, this moment is private. People around us don't matter, they don't even exists. For just a small moment, smaller than a full second, we're alone.

I can feel Caroline's eyes on us, I can feel a lot of pair of eyes on us, so I say, "Yeah, I did."

"And here I thought you don't do parties," there's a sly smile on his face as he turns my own words against me.

I don't feel trapped, though. I feel like this exchange is natural, something we've been doing for the past several years. "I think it's time for me to try something new," I say and he doesn't even know how much truth there is in that sentence. "You remember Bonnie and Caroline, right?" I say, pointing at my friends who are staring at me, bewildered. Well, Bonnie stares at me surprised, but Caroline has a coy smile on her face, like she knows something even I don't.

"Of course," Stefan greets each of them. I don't have to ask him does he remember Matt and Tyler, he obviously does. I don't think Tyler even noticed Stefan joined us, he's too busy checking Caroline out. Every millimeter of her body. Matt seems tense, though, his muscles are rigid, although his expression gives nothing about something bothering him.

"Can we get any drinks around here?" Caroline asks him, practically hanging on Tyler's shoulder.

These two are playing this game for far too long, I don't know why they don't just get it over with. Whenever I ask Caroline about it, she changes the topic, like she doesn't want to talk about it.

"Yeah, but don't go to the main bar," Stefan says, his finger pointing to the other side of the room, where it's too dark for me to see, "Go there. Tyler can take you, so you don't get lost," he smiles. I try to see what's there. I even step on my toes to make myself look higher in order to see. Then I catch it, just the glimpse of it, another bar. Smaller, more secluded.

"Bonnie, the usual?" Caroline asks and Bonnie nods without giving it too much thought. Then, she looks at me, "Do you want anything?"

I stare back at her. Do I want anything? What are my choices? Is she talking about alcohol? Am I ready for it?

I'm not ready for any of this, which is funny, because I'm too late to all of this.

So I say boldly, "I'll have whatever you're having."

I can see surprise fill the lines of her face, but it's gone so fast that I doubt anyone else has noticed. Then, she nods before Tyler pulls her away from us.

It's just Stefan, Bonnie, Matt and me, each of us in our own universe. Just when I think things are about to get boring, I notice Katherine Pierce and her possy walking our way.

"Hey Bonnie," Katherine says with her overly warm, fake friendly voice, a huge smile on her face. It looks like someone had carved it in there. "Where's Caroline?" she asks, her voice upbeat.

Caroline can't stand Katherine, and Katherine can't stand Caroline, but they both belong in the circles of social elite, so all rules allow that they have to play nicely. Those two were never friends, but I think the real silent war started when Caroline refused to join the cheerleading squad, which is your fast ticket to popularity. Katherine knows what a good dancer Caroline is, so of course she wanted her in the team, but Caroline refused, joining other activities instead. Caroline says that cheerleading is a cliche and that she has no intention of falling into it.

Katherine got Matt's attention, or better to say, her dress did. It's cute, but it probably belongs to her younger sister, because it ends right under her buttocks. Katherine always dresses like this, exposing her long, lean legs, making me feel self conscious. Mine are as long as hers, but I barely have any flesh on them.

"Getting drinks," Bonnie answers casually, with no intention of taking this conversation further than it needs to go.

I look at Stefan. I bet he's looking at Katherine as well, stealing a piece of her overly exposed skin like every other person here. Licking his lips, flickering his tongue over their edges, or something similar. But when I look at him, I notice that he's not looking at Katherine at all.

He's looking at me. Studying me. While I'm thinking about how Katherine has such better legs than me. I wonder does he know what I'm thinking, is he even close to guessing.

He smiles at me, and I smile back.

"Hey Stefan," she greets him with a sing song voice, swooning. I look in her direction, and she's twisting her big, brown curl around her index finger, flashing the brightest smile she can muster.

"Hey," Stefan greets her back, this time taking his look off of me, giving her one of his smiles. Something shoots through me, something similar to jealousy, and I try to quiet it down.

Then, she says, like she's just noticing me standing there as well. Maybe she is. I'm probably the last person she would expect seeing here. "Oh, hello Elena," she's thrown back by my presence, surprised, and so are the rest of her friends, but they don't say anything. They never do. They're like dolls at Katherine's tea party, she bosses them around, stuffs them with cold tea and plastic scones, and they obey, like their lips are stitched together.

"Hey Katherine," I say with a friendly tone of voice, like I usually do. It throws Katherine off guard. People either hate her or fear her, and both things give her power. I don't act like I feel either of those things towards her, and she doesn't know how to react to that, which is why she leaves me alone. Which is why, I guess, I've never been a subject of her malicious rumors.

She studies me from head to toe, wheels spinning in her head. Something is going on, at this very instant, I can feel it, but I can't feel what. "Well, we have to go," she says, like she expects us to be sad about this,"Give Caroline my regards," she says mockingly before walking away. Her crew follows her without complaint.

Caroline and Tyler come back with our drinks. She hands me a small, cocktail glass with a tiny amount of reddish fluid in it. I feel disappointed as the thought that she might have actually brought me juice crosses my mind. I bring the glass closer to my face and smell its contents. I frown when the scent creeps into my nostrils. Okay, that's not juice.

Bonnie comes closer to Caroline, whispering something in her ear. Judging by the expression on Caroline's face, she's informing her that Katherine and her clone clan paid us a visit.

I bring the glass closer to my lips and carefully take a sip of whatever is in my glass. All I can taste is a delicious mix of cranberry and lime juice, so I take another sip, right after the first one, which happens to be a mistake. My throat starts burning and so does my stomach, when the contents I've swallowed reach it. My throat contracts. I get the urge to swallow my own tongue. I guess this is alcohol.

"How are you enjoying your Cosmo, Elena?" Caroline asks. I look up, trying to hide my disgusted face, rather successfully I hope. She's just trying to help me, she knows I have no idea what the hell I'm holding in my hands.

So, this is Cosmopolitan, the famous cocktail.

"Fine," I say, encouraging myself to take another sip, "Just fine."

When I answer, Caroline's eyes go wide, and Bonnie's follows her rhythm. I almost ask them what's going on, when I hear someone saying, "Little brother."

I whip my head around, to the source of the voice, which is when I notice another body standing between Stefan and me. Tall, as tall as Stefan. Little less muscular, or at least his muscles are not visible under the suit he's wearing. His hair is darker than the walls and the night, and he's sporting that smirk of his.

I down the rest of my drink in one shot and I doubt anyone notices.

"Damon," Stefan says his brothers name, his lips forming a gentle smile.

"Having fun?" Damon puts a hand on Stefan's shoulder and squeezes it tightly, but not in a painful way. This seems to be a regular exchange between the brothers.

I don't remember them having this kind of a relationship. I don't even remember them talking, or spending a lot of time together when they were kids. Stefan rarely mentioned Damon to me, except when he would invite me over, he would always tell me Damon won't be there. I remember no one daring to touch Stefan because everyone knew who his brother was, and everyone assumed if anything happens to Stefan, he will be avenged.

"Yeah," Stefan bows his head shamefully.

And there he is. For the first time since he came back into town, I can see him. That little boy that left 10 years ago. Shy, lonely, weak.

Something makes my arm fly in Bonnie's direction. I take her drink out of her hands and drink it all at once. It doesn't go to my stomach, it goes straight to my head.

I have never tasted alcohol, so even the small amount can make me dizzy.

"Hey, you remember Elena, right?" Stefan says out of blue, raising his head, looking straight at me.

My cheeks are red, either from his words or alcohol or a little bit of both.

Damon turns around, his face unreadable. He studies my face and after a while, I can see recognition flicker on his. "My, my," his eyes go up and down my body, very quickly, "Little Elena Gilbert," I expect him to say something among the lines _even though there was never nothing little about you_, but he doesn't, "You have certainly grown."

I don't know what to say to him, so I keep standing there like an idiot I am. Thankfully, he says right away, "Is that alcohol I see in your hands?" he asks, eyeing the glass in my hands. He doesn't seem angry or upset, though, he seems amused, even though his voice indicates differently.

"No," I say.

"No?" he cocks an eyebrow in my direction.

"It's just an empty glass now," it must be alcohol in me talking, because I would never, in a million years, say something like this.

His face stays blank for few more seconds, then he bursts into laughter. Him laughing is a good sign, it gives me more confidence. "Is that right?" he asks, still laughing, "Well, that's good then," his laughter is buzzing inside of my head, growing louder and louder with every passing second. How much alcohol do cocktails contain exactly? "I wouldn't want people to think we serve alcohol to minors here," he says, but he doesn't seem to care much about that.

"Then maybe you would want to consider relocating those teenagers who are puking outside," I say calmly.

He laughs again. I don't know why, but getting this man who never spoke a word to me as a boy, but often insulted me, laugh, gives me a boost of confidence.

He turns to Stefan, who's smiling, but studying me carefully, like he's trying to figure me out because this is a side of me he hasn't met yet, and says, "She has spunk. I like her," he taps him on the shoulder once again.

Stefan doesn't say anything, but keeps on watching me, anticipating my next move. I don't know what to do, because I'm not familiar with this side of myself either. And neither are my friends, who are probably staring at me in disbelief.

When I notice that Damon is prepared to say his goodbyes to us, I ask, "What's there?" pointing at the entrance in the back, separated from this room with a red band.

"VIP section," Damon grins, "Stefan can show you around if you want," he leans closer to whisper into my ear, "Just don't break anything."

He watches me as I blush, but out of some reason, he doesn't laugh at my face. He simply nods and leaves us.

"Do you want to see?" Stefan asks me, and before I'm even aware of my actions, I catch myself nodding at him affirmatively.

He grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers and pulls me after him. As he does, my body bumps into Matt's, and for a second, our eyes meet. He looks confused, baffled, disappointed, betrayed. I can only imagine the expression on my friends faces as they watch me leave with Stefan, a guy I barely know. What am I doing?

I don't know. The music is loud, it's everywhere, it's in my ears and in my head, even my stomach holds its beat. I feel like I've swallowed a speaker, my whole body is buzzing.

At the entrance Stefan whispers something to the guard who then lets us through. This section is like a whole other world. Tiles are black, the walls are white, but the light is red, so everything else glows red as well. The room is way smaller than the other one, but it's cozier. There's a small bar in the back corner, and there are no stools, but soft sofas.

Stefan pulls me down on one of them, and I fall into the comfortable embrace of leather.

It's like this room is soundproof, because I can barely hear the music coming from the outside. The music here is low, instrumental, so people can have a conversation.

"Can I get one of those Cosmopolitan thingies in here?" I ask, looking around the room. Only two other tables are occupied, one couple, and the other one a bunch of men playing cards.

"How about Sex on the Beach?" he asks.

I whip my head around to look at him, a horrified expression on my face. My eyes go wide upon hearing his question. Then, I ask the dumbest question in the history of questions, "There's a beach here?"

He seems confused, for about a moment, then uncomfortable, which he grows out of pretty soon and a smile breaks on his lips. "That's a cocktail," he says while shame fills every pore of my face. His smile deepens. I don't know if he finds me adorable or stupid, I don't even know why I'm wondering this. "Believe me, you want to try that."

Alcohol is the enemy - it creates double meaning to everything and takes all the subtlety away. I agree to having one before I get another chance to say something equally, or more, stupid.

He brings me a tall glass filled with orange liquid. I gasp. If I drink all of this, I'll pass out.

I accept it anyway. "Thanks," I say, putting the straw between my lips as soon as I clasp my fingers around the glass. This one is stronger, but way more delicious. I can't seem to get enough of it, especially now when the burning feeling alcohol had created in my throat subsided, and all I can feel now is sensational fruity explosion. I'm nursing this straw like a baby bottle.

After several gulps I put the glass on the table and notice Stefan smiling in my direction. "What?" I ask, half snappy, half playful.

"Nothing," he shakes his head, his eyes stilled on mine, "You're cute."

I can't keep on looking at him, because I don't want him to see this silly, school girl grin on my face as he says those words. I don't have that kind of confidence.

"So, is this your favorite drink?" I ask, since he did recommend it to me.

He shakes his head no. "I'm not much into cocktails, I'm more your typical beer kind of a guy," he makes himself comfortable on a bunch of pillows settled on the sofa behind us.

"So what's your favorite cocktail?" I feel like an annoying, nosy child.

"I don't have one," he shrugs.

"But if you had to choose," I whine, pushing the matter forward. The only people I'm comfortable enough with to act like these are Bonnie and Caroline, and sometimes my aunt and brother.

He settles his look on my face and I can feel like he can see right through me or inside of me and I don't want him there, at least not now, because there's a typhoon inside of my head and everything is messier than usual. "Fine," he finally says, "Screwdriver."

_Screwdriver_, I repeat in my head, testing its sound, trying to find some deeper meaning in his answer. My eyes go wide and the corners of my lips go up.

"Which you're not getting, because your eyes are already glossy," when he says those words, I pout. I pout like a puppy, my lips twisted down, my eyebrows up, my eyes adapting that sad look while I'm trying to crackle my nose.

I fall into the pillows. I could fall asleep, right here, right now. "Please, Stefan," I say his name seductively, I call for him in that soft, gentle way Ilsa often called Rick, a way I didn't even know I have in me, "Just one more," I come closer to him, our shoulders are touching, my face is so close to his. I'm not planning anything. I don't know how, even if I wanted to. I'm playing with him, which is hardly fair, but at this moment I'm hardly aware I'm doing it.

"No," he says firmly. His voice has changed, it's deep and raspy now. There's a look on his face, a look which is a mix of confusion and fear and I don't understand it.

My dress goes up my thighs as I twirl my body on the sofa to come closer to him. I can feel him looking, my exposed, thin legs, legs like naked branches in the middle of Fall, and for the first time in my life I don't find myself unattractive. Because he keeps sneaking a peak, he keeps coming back, and I don't do anything about it. I don't cover myself up.

"The drunker they are, the easier you can take advantage of them," I say before I'm able to stop myself, before I think about the words coming out of my mouth, such filthy, disgusting words to say.

He swallows hard, taking his eyes off of my body and shifting his full attention to my face, "I don't think you're a kind of girl who would let anyone take advantage of her," he says.

He's right. This isn't me. This is not how I'm supposed to be acting. It's not attractive at all. It's cheap and disgusting and attracts wrong set of people.

I pull myself up, straightening myself into the sitting position. I take the glass and drink whats left of its contents before asking, "Can we dance here?"

"No," he replies dryly.

"Then let's go back, I want to dance," I make a demand, ashamed of my earlier behavior. I can't even make myself look at him, because I don't want to face the way he's looking at me.

And I can feel his eyes on me. "You go, I have to use the bathroom."

"Alright," I say without even looking at him. I pull my dress down as far as it goes before getting up and walking away towards the exit.

I disappear into the other room without turning back, not even once. I can't make myself to.

I find my friends. Caroline is already dancing with Tyler, her body is so close to his and his arms are around her, on her, everywhere. They look like they're trying to melt into one person and I wonder myself how is it to feel someones hands all over your body because I cringe every time I think about someone touching me.

I'm afraid of it. I'm afraid of intimacy. Someone else knowing me in a way only I know myself. Having someone wrapped around me like second skin. Fingertips on places even I don't like to touch.

I see Bonnie, few steps away from them, talking to some girls from school. I think she knows the from debate.

And then there's Matt, alone. Always alone. Always waiting.

I walk over to him, clasping my fingers around his wrist. "Come," I say, and he seems surprised, "Dance with me," it doesn't take a lot to make him come with me to the dance floor.

I used to dance before I got sick. That's how I lost all that weight as a kid, I got my parents to enroll me into modern dances. I danced until my feet were sore and my body without energy, I danced until I was as flat as the ground I would collide with after one of my sessions. I loved dancing, but when I got sick, I had to stop. My mother didn't let me continue afterwards. Too much wasted physical energy on unneeded things, she said.

I know how to dance. Yet, with Matt, I can't let myself go. Every time I see him reaching out to me, I stumble back, away from him, hoping he doesn't notice I'm doing it on purpose.

What was I thinking, asking Stefan to join me on the dance floor, when I can't even dance with another human being like a normal person? At least Matt knows me, at least he knows I don't go to parties and that this is new to me. He knows me. He knows my reasons. He knows about the cancer.

Stefan doesn't.

Maybe that's the point. Maybe that's why, with him, I can act like someone else. Someone more attractive, a person I would rather be, than the one I am. Because he's not the part of my reality. He doesn't know what's going on in my head and why I say the things I say or do the things I do. He doesn't know how infected this body is.

Maybe that's why he's so attractive to me.

I let him go. I let everything go. I let Stefan go and I let Matt go, I let my friends go, as well as other people surrounding us. I let myself go. I'm dancing. My arms are in the air, my feet are leaving the ground, even my hair is jumping up and down on my shoulder and I'm not afraid of letting it go as well. I let go of my shackles, I take these chains off of my body and I break free.

I _am_ free.

Somewhere in the midst of all these freedom, Matt pulls me closer to him. It happens so quickly, I don't have time to react, his hands are on my arms, squeezing my elbows and he's pulling me closer. My body is pressing next to his and there's no air, there's not enough air for me to breathe. He pulls me like I weigh nothing, like I am nothing, without my consent, like he owns me and before I know it his lips are on mine and I don't know what to do.

It's such a weird feeling, having someones else lips pressing on yours. Feeling this unkind pressure on one part of your body you're not used to anyone touching. You rarely touch it yourself directly. Your lips touch objects like spoons and forks and lipsticks, you press them against cheeks and pillows. But having another set on lips on top of yours, it's natural in the most unnatural way.

He keeps me pressed to him, his hands still gripping me tightly, not letting me go, like he knows I'd run away the first chance I get. We stand there for quite some time, our lips pressed together, my eyes opened, his closed. I'm staring at his eyelids. I never had a chance to see someones eyelids from this proximity. Then, his lips start moving, and I close my eyes.

I kiss him back. I hope I'm doing this right.

I don't kiss him because I want to or because I need to. I don't kiss him because I like him, because he's Matt and I've known him since forever and he likes me and it's only natural to kiss him back when he kisses me. I kiss him because I've never done it before. Because it's unknown and I want to know.

At the same time I have a feeling like I'm wasting something on the wrong person. My first kiss. It wasn't supposed to be like this, and I wasn't supposed to feel like this. He's a wrong person. He stole this kiss from me.

I guess this is how life is, once you decide to participate in it. Most of the time, things don't go like you plan. And you kiss a lot of wrong people before the right one comes along. A lot of kisses feel sour so you know when the sweet one comes along.

Now, all I know is how sour tastes like.

Finally, he pulls away from me. He lets me go. He looks into my eyes, waiting for my reaction. I smile at him, and he smiles back.

But I don't let him kiss me again for the rest of the night.

* * *

I don't know what time it is when I realize neither Bonnie nor Caroline are anywhere to be seen. I've been dancing blindly.

I go on a quest to find them. I can't find them anywhere in the club, so I go outside. There are a lot of people outside, probably trying to gather themselves before heading home.

Finally, I spot them, sitting in the grass near the parking lot. Well, Caroline is lying on the ground, while Bonnie is sitting next to her. I go over to them.

"Hey," I say, appearing in front of them.

"There she is!" Caroline yells, and Bonnie motions for her to be quiet, so next question she says through a whisper, "Is your virginity still intact?"

My eyes go wide. "Caroline!" I hiss her name through my teeth.

"What?" she shrugs, rolling her eyes. She's obviously drunk, "First you go off with Stefan, then you're kissing Matt," her eyebrows keep going up and down.

"I didn't kiss Matt," I say, defending myself, "He kissed me."

Caroline squeezes her eyes shut, sighing, "Technicalities."

I exhale loudly, tired, sitting down next to Bonnie. It takes me some time to notice she's not talking to me, or looking at me. Something's wrong. If it weren't, she would be asking me subtle questions now.

"Bonnie, what's wrong?" I ask.

She keeps quiet for a while, then, when I almost give up hoping she's going to answer me, she says, "You don't even like him."

I furrow my brows, confused by her statement. "Who?"

"Matt," she says sadly, like his name leaving her mouth causes her physical harm.

"What does that have to do with anything?" I don't know where this is coming from all of a sudden.

She turns her head to look at me and by the look in her eyes, I know. I know what this has to do with everything.

"Bonnie, why didn't you say anything?" I ask quietly so no one can hear.

"What's the point?" she shrugs, looking at me, "He likes you. For years now. I thought that, after some time, he would just give up. But he never did," she takes a deep breath before speaking again, "You know, I was actually glad you don't come anywhere with us, because that meant I won't have to look at Matt pine over you while you act you have no idea how he feels about you. You're so selfish, Elena," I can see her growing angry. Bonnie rarely gets angry or upset. She's the most laid back person I know. She's my best friend and I didn't even notice she likes someone, which means she's either a really great actress or I'm a lousy friend. I wonder does Caroline know. "Matt's a really good guy, and you won't even give him a chance. And why? Because you were sick? Because you might get sick again?" she's getting louder with each word she says. I glance at Caroline. She has her arm dropped over her eyes. Maybe she can't hear us. Maybe she's pretending she can't hear us. "I'm so tired of you pitying yourself. I'm tired of pitying you."

"I never asked for your pity," I say truthfully, "And about Matt, I can't change the way I feel. I just don't like him that way."

"You should tell him that then!" she yells, upset, "You're stringing him along."

"I'm not. I never promised him anything. Do you really think that me telling him I don't feel anything for him will magically invalidate his feelings for me? I don't think it works that way. Matt is not my property, I can't let him go," I reply, upset, but not at her, but at myself.

"Why did you kiss him then?" she asks, her eyes wide, set on mine.

"I didn't - "

"He kissed you," she interrupts me before I even get a chance to explain, "Yeah, I know. But you kissed him back. I saw you. I was standing right next to you. Maybe you don't know what you're doing, but I do," she snaps.

I stand up. "You know what Bonnie?" I'm tired, I'm nervous, I'm annoyed and irritated, "You know very well I don't want any of this. I don't want to be kissed or liked by anyone."

"You only want to die in peace," she says and my heart shrinks to the size of a raisin, "Well tough luck, Elena. You're not dying. You're standing here. And sometimes you don't have a choice in who kisses you, and you sure as hell don't have a choice in who likes you."

"Here's your bottle of water," I hear someone saying. I raise my look up and see Stefan approaching us.

Caroline springs to life, raising her arms in the air. "My savior!" she yells, extending her hands towards Stefan. He opens the bottle of water for her and once she's in the sitting position, he hands it to her. "Blondie, you're a lightweight," he says teasingly, watching her gulp.

Caroline doesn't get angry, though. "Guilty!" she says excitedly once her lips get separated from the bottle.

Stefan looks at Bonnie, then at me, probably catching this weird vibe between us, in case he hadn't heard us fighting. "Is everything alright?" he asks, not curiously, or worriedly, more because he's polite and he can see there's clearly something going on.

"Yeah," Bonnie pushes herself off of the ground, "Caroline can't drive, obviously, so I'm going to take us home."

"Can you give me a lift?" I ask Stefan, "If you're going home, that is."

Bonnie doesn't even look at me. She doesn't object. And neither does Caroline.

After a while Stefan says, "Sure."

Bonnie helps Caroline get up and after Caroline waves goodbye to us, they disappear in the direction of where we left Caroline's car. I follow Stefan towards his. We get into the car without a word, and we drive home in silence.

I don't ask him why he never came back. I don't ask him did he see Matt and me kissing. I don't ask him anything, and he doesn't ask me anything either.

I'm angry at Bonnie for saying all those things to me. I'm angry at Caroline for pretending she can't hear us. I'm angry at Matt for kissing me. I'm angry at Stefan for not coming back. If he did, maybe Matt wouldn't have kissed me. Then Bonnie wouldn't be angry with me. If only we stayed in the VIP section. If only he asked me to wait for him, to stay.

I want to tell him I'm angry. I want to tell him he's the one who was supposed to be kissing me, not Matt. I want to tell him that, in the moment Matt's lips collided with mine, his face was the first one I saw in my mind. I want to tell him that I kept my eyes open for so long was because I kept praying that somehow Matt will morph into him.

Mostly I'm angry at myself. For wishing this, because I shouldn't be kissing anyone. For letting Stefan in my life. For letting Matt kiss me. I should have pushed both of them away when I had a chance to. I'm angry at myself for not noticing my best friend likes someone, someone in front of my nose, and I'm angry at myself for betraying her.

"Do you think things happen for a reason?" I ask suddenly.

He doesn't turn to look at me, and it takes him some time to answer. "Yes," he says, "I think everything happens for a reason."

I wish he didn't say this. I wish he said that no, he doesn't believe everything happens for a reason. That some things just happen and that tomorrow they won't matter.

I wonder who I'll be tomorrow.

That girl who disappeared with Stefan Salvatore in a room no one else was allowed to. That girl who kissed Matt Donovan. That girl who had a fight with Bonnie Bennett at three in the morning in front of New Wave. That girl who got into the car with Stefan Salvatore.

For once I wish to just be _that girl with caner_.


	6. Chapter 6

I wake up, rapidly, violently, feeling like my bed is lying on top of me, not the other way around. Sunshine attacks my eyelids, making them flutter until they finally succumb and fly wide open. It takes me some time to get used to such a bright light which is, for the first time since I can remember, an unpleasant experience.

My head is so heavy I barely lift it off of the pillow, having to shift all of my weight into my hands to push myself up. I try to recall getting home last night, but my memory is so fuzzy that the last thing I remember is getting into Stefan's car.

I notice my dress hanging off of my chair, and some make-up pads scattered around the table, next to the cleansing lotion, which means I was capable enough to get my make-up off and get myself to bed properly.

I put my feet on the ground, but when I try to stand up, it feels like someone pulled the ground right from under me. I lose my balance and fall back on the bed. I take an invisible hit to the head, like something formed a fist out of air and knocked me down.

I'm used to feeling sick and nauseous, just not like this. You would think there's no difference, that there's just one kind of sickness and nausea, but they actually vary in feeling and length. I know how it's to have these rotten cells cruise around your body, like pirates, waiting to find and attack some vital, healthy and unconquered part of your body. I know how it's like for something to push things up your throat, instead of down, like it's supposed to go, just to empty you of everything they don't need, so they can have a whole place to themselves.

But I know nothing about this. I don't know how to handle being sleepy, tired, but feeling like sleep is the last thing I need. I don't feel well lying down, but I can't stand either, because I can't hold my balance. I feel like I'm going to vomit, but there's nothing in me that needs coming out. There are gaps in my memory, but yet, I don't feel like anything is missing.

I take a deep breath and try to stand up again. This time, I succeed.

_Coffee, I need coffee,_ is the first thing that comes to my mind. A desperate sensation for coffee fills every inch of my body, turning into my primary need, so I head downstairs.

I can hear voices as soon as I open the doors of my bedroom. It's only Jeremy, shouting at the tv while playing a video game, I can see him through the half opened doors of his room. If I didn't know any better, I would say there's at least ten people in his room, because there are voices bouncing inside of my head.

When I come downstairs, I go straight to the kitchen, and the first thing I hear is my mothers voice, shouting my name, horrified. "Elena!" her voice makes my skull crack in half, "What are you still doing in your pajamas?" she asks, actually mortified by my actions, like somehow I've shamed her by doing this, "It's almost noon!" she continues shouting, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

It's noon? Already? I never sleep for that long, 9 am is my limit. I don't like wasting my time with something unnecessary like too much sleep. I'm already wasting my time enough as it is, since every breath I take is harder on me than on most people. To some, breathing is a reflex, to me, it's a waste of energy.

"Don't yell," I say calmly, asking her more than telling her. "Please," I add, not to sound too harsh. The last thing I want right now is to get into an argument with my mother.

Silence surrounds me, and I suffocate in it. I sink into it so deep, to the point where I forget where I am and that there are other people near me, so hearing my mothers voice again takes me by surprise. "I'm not yelling," her voice is stoic, even, quieter than it was a moment before, "This is how I always talk," she stutters a little, which makes me open my eyes.

She's looking at me.. with fear in her eyes. Like she can't recognize the girl standing in front of her.

My first instinct is to tell her something along the lines _well, did you ever think that you always yell while you talk,_ but I remind myself that this is my mother and that I shouldn't be talking to her that way.

The look in her eyes throws me off and I don't know how to respond to it. I don't know how to react, or what's suddenly so different about me that she would look at me in such a way.

I can't spend too much time thinking about it either, because it's hard to keep my focus on just one thing. Which is probably why it's only now that I've noticed aunt Jenna sitting next to my mother. I don't know how come I haven't seen her sitting there earlier.

"I need coffee," I say, walking towards the coffee machine.

My mother inhales deeply to make a point, but I don't stop. I take a cup and start pouring now already cold coffee into it. When she sees that I'm not going to stop, she sighs and says, "Elena, sweetie," she says sweetie in such a sweet way that almost gives you diabetes just by hearing it, "I really don't think - "

"Mom," I interrupt her, my hand shaking as I try to hold a heavy cup with just five of my fragile, bony fingers, "I really need coffee right now," I look her right in the eyes, like I have something to prove. Like I'm trying to send her a message.

She takes her eyes off of me, almost instantly, like she can't handle the sight of me.

She takes something into her hands, something, anything to occupy her, as she says through her teeth, bitterly, "Someone had too much fun last night, I see."

Let's see. I had my first kiss with a wrong boy, a boy who is unfortunate enough to like me, so that's going to be messy. In the process I've managed to hurt my best friend, not to mention I was completely oblivious to her feelings all this time. Also, the boy who I possibly, maybe, sorta, in a way, in some other life or reality could like.. well, I'm sure that somehow I've messed up things with him as well. So no, mom, I didn't have too much fun. Quite the opposite.

"I saw you at the party," aunt Jenna says, which makes my throat contract.

I try to hide the panicky look in my eyes by narrowing them into an unnatural position. "Oh," I gasp surprised, hoping it's actually believable, "Really? Because I didn't see you."

Technically, I'm not lying, but it's not like I was looking for her either. Unlike my mother, Jenna holds her eyes stilled on me, watching me carefully. I feel like she's testing me, or maybe she's thinking about what to say next, and suddenly a horrible feeling that she had seen me with Matt washes over me.

"Yeah," she says just as my heart starts racing at the thought, "I saw you with Stefan," her face is calm, every muscle in its place. She doesn't seem angry or upset, but she's not her usual upbeat self either. Maybe she's tired from the party as well.

"Yeah," I nod, trying to remain natural, "He was showing me around," technically, I'm not lying this time either. He really was showing me around.

Jenna's lips twitch, and she does her best to hide a smile. She brings a cup to her lips to hide a smile that's getting wider with each passing second, humming _mhm_ amused.

I want to ask her so desperately what's that all about, but I can't do it in front of my mother.

"Elena, can you get that?" my mother asks extra politely, which is how I know that she's faking it. It sounds forced.

"What?" I furrow my brows, confused by what she means.

She looks up at me, eyeing me carefully, her eyes going over every inch of me, scanning me, before answering, "There's someone at the door. Would you mind answering it?"

How the hell did I miss that? Can this morning get any weirder?

I take a huge sip of the coffee, which tastes like crap because it's cold and sugarless, but I swallow it anyway. "Yeah. Sure. I'm on it."

As I walk out of the kitchen, I'm pretty sure I can hear aunt Jenna snickering behind my back.

I hurry to open the door. When I do, I clench my fingers around my coffee cup tightly.

"Stefan," his name comes out of my mouth in the form of a whisper, it gently, softly rolls off of my lips. I sound surprised, like he's the last person I'd expect to see on my front porch, which is not that far from the truth. Sun coats my skin, making my body radiate heath. I feel like I have a high fever. "Hey," I find myself saying, almost reflexively, because I don't remember planning to say anything else.

"Hey," he answers, his eyes going up and down my body with no subtlety, and if it were any other boy or any other scenario, I'd mind. It annoys me that I don't with him. It angers me that I let him look at me like that, that I enjoy it. He cocks an eyebrow at me, his green eyes shimmering like wet grass, when he says, "Nice pajamas."

He moves away from the door, and I blush self consciously. I'm wearing my Tinkerbell pajamas that consist of a shirt with spaghetti straps and shorts. I can't believe I walked out on my front porch in my kids jammies in front of Stefan Salvatore.

I don't let him notice how ashamed I am, though. I swallow my pride, step out on the porch, barefoot, and close the door behind me. I hold my head high, even though I wish I could open my mouth wide enough to swallow myself whole. "So, what are you doing here?" I ask, coming closer to him. I stop few feet away from him, setting our boundaries.

His face is serious, calm, when he says, "I came to see are you feeling okay."

I furrow my brows, confusion settling on my features, "Why wouldn't I be feeling okay?" I want to cross my arms across my chest, I want to wrap myself, shield myself, from him, from the world.. mostly from him, but this damn cup is preventing me. So I satisfy myself with wrapping my free arm around my body, settling my fingers on my opposite hip.

After some time, when he sees that I'm not joking, he grins, amused. "You don't remember?" he tilts his head in such a position that a sun beam falls over one side of his face, making it brighter, more beautiful, happier, more amused, more surprised, more joyful, more, more, more.. more everything.

I want to shrink myself. This sun can't make me grow, it can only burn me down, turn me into ashes, or liquid, it really doesn't matter. World doesn't make me more, it makes me less. "Remember what?" I ask fearful, curious for the answer, but at the same time not wanting to hear it at all.

He flickers the tip of his tongue over the middle of his upper lip before looking down. "I see," is all he says, trying to hide his smile.

It makes me shake. It makes me quiver. It's hot outside, so hot, I should be sweating, but instead there are goosebumps on my skin. "Remember what, Stefan?" I ask again, through my teeth, slowly losing my patience. It is now that I realize how much I sound like my mother. She would never lose her patience, though, not in a million of years.

He raises his look to me, a full blown smile decorating his face. My insides shake, there's an quake inside of my body. _Thump, thump, thump,_ my heart is jumping up and down. At one point, I swear, it touches me heels. "You should dress like this more often," he says, "It suits you. Innocent, but sexy." I wish the ground would open and swallow me, because I don't know how much of this smile I can swallow. Is he teasing me? I don't know. If he is, he's very good at it, because his face doesn't show any evidence that would reveal his foul intentions.

I try to sound irritated, but somehow, my voice sounds rather playful, "Just tell me," I command him, but in such a lighthearted way. I wanted to sound dangerous, bad ass, but instead, I sound like a school girl with a crush.

He watches me, thinking it through, probably weighing on should he tell me or not. Finally, his lips move, "So, you remember me giving you a ride from the party?" his arms go across his chest.

"Yeah," I say, remembering my unpleasant conversation with Bonnie.

"Well, you fell asleep," he says, and when I don't react to it, he adds, like it wasn't already obvious, "In my car."

My heart starts thumping faster, but this time, not with excitement. No, this is something else entirely. "And yet, I woke up in my bed," I say calmly, like I'm just stating a fact, masking my fear.

He raises his eyebrow at my calmness, like he knows I'm faking it, "Well, yes," he says, a small, almost invisible smile dancing on his lips. A smile that says he knows something that I don't. "I woke you up, but you refused to get out. You said you're perfectly okay with sleeping in the car."

I can feel my cheeks turning red. I push the edge of the cup between my lips to hide my quivering lips. "And what did you do?" I ask, fearful to know the answer, but also curious to know exactly what happened.

"I told you that you can't sleep in the car, obviously," his smile is becoming wider and wider with every word he says, "I finally managed to convince you to get out," he stops there, like that's the end of the story, but I know better than to think that.

Than to actually hope my embarrassment runs so low.

"Then what happened?" I urge him to continue, gurgling into my coffee, which keeps crashing into my lips.

"Then," he prolongs the word, hoping I would change my mind and tell him it doesn't matter, "Then you asked me do I know where your room is."

I didn't. Please tell me I didn't. Please tell me that he's making all of this up.

"Hmm, did I now?" My whole body is red now, colored with shame and embarrassment, every inch of my skin, every inch covering my bones. "To which you said?" I realize this is probably the worst and most awkward conversation anyone ever had.

"That it's probably somewhere in your house," he replies, almost making me smile. I can't afford myself to smile. "Anyway, after an extensive quest for your keys, you threw them at me and told me to take you to your room."

I lower the cup from my lips, showing every emotion I must be feeling, even the ones I can't name. "I did no such thing," I raise my voice in disbelief, regretting it as soon as the thought that my mother might hear us comes over me.

He laughs. He actually laughs. Full blown, loud laugh. "You're right," he says, "I believe your exact words were _'Take me to my quarters now, please'._"

"Oh my God," I say mortified, "You're not joking," I walk over to the window and lower the cup on the windowsill. I hide my face behind my palms, standing there still, when a horrible feeling washes over me. I take my hands off of my face to look at him, "So what did you do?"

"Elena, it was three in the morning, and you were yelling at me to take you to your bedroom in the middle of the street, what do you think I did?" he asks but I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I don't want to know. When I stay silent, with no affirmation of understanding what he's saying, he says, "I took you to your bedroom."

Color drains from my face. "My parents.." I don't know why this is the first thought that comes to my mind. Maybe they've heard the whole thing and that's why my mother was looking at me like she doesn't know me.

Then again, I can't imagine my mother lying still in her bed if she heard some boy taking me to my bedroom.

"Don't worry," he shrugs my worries away, "They haven't heard a thing. We were quiet. Well, I was. You kept whispering something along the lines _don't wake the dragon,_" there's a frown on his face, telling me he still doesn't understand what I meant by it. I'm not sure I do either. "Anyway, you started taking your make-up off, which is a sight to see," he smiles, rather smirks at the memory, teasingly.

I remember my make-up pads and cleansing lotion on the table. My memory goes straight to my dress, hanging on my chair. No, no, no. Oh no.

My expression must be revealing my inner state because he says, "I take it you remember what happened next."

I swallow. "Not quite," my voice jumps and shakes as I speak.

He sighs and leans on one of the columns supporting the porch. Then, he grins, flashing a set of snowy white teeth, "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Elena," this amuses him. My worst fears amuse him, my shame and awkwardness are the source of his entertainment and I just want to disappear. "You have a lovely body," he continues.

"Oh no," my face becomes paler, if that's even possible, "What did I do?" I'm not sure if I'm asking him or myself and I can see that neither is he.

All I can think of is undressing in front of him. Bones, sticking out, from everywhere. Bones at places bones shouldn't be visible. My tiny, too tiny, too thin, disgusting body, in front of him. My slippery skin, full of cuts and bruises and holes from needles, evidence of hundredth, thousand medical procedures. Why did I allow him to see it? He must think I'm all wrong now.

I _am_ all wrong.

"You said you can't stand one more minute in it," his voice loses that amused streak. I look at him. He's serious now.

He's not teasing me anymore. Worse. He's pitying me now. "You said that it itches."

"And then?" I ask.

His expression changes to mortified by what he thinks I'm implying, but I'm not implying something like that at all. I wonder what he's mortified of, though, me thinking he would take advantage of me, or the possibility of him actually touching me. He still looks like I've offended him when he says, "Well, I usually buy them dinner before they take their clothes off for me, so I left," he clears his throat with a cough, "Look, I didn't mean to upset you, all I wanted is to make sure you're okay and to give you these back."

He reaches in his pocket and takes out my keys, handing them over to me.

I want to tell him it's not him, it's me. It sounds wrong and cheesy and unbelievable, but it's the truth. It's me and my messy mind and even messier body.

I get an urge to tell him everything, every single detail, all the things I never told anyone before, all the things I'm afraid to even admit to myself. I don't know why, but I have a feeling he would listen and understand.

More importantly, out of some reason, I want him to know.

But I don't say anything. Instead, I take my keys, careful not to touch him, and as he walks away, I say quietly, not even sure he can hear me, "Thank you."

* * *

"Why do we have to know all these facts?" Caroline whines, "It all happened, like, a billion years ago. It affects us how?"

We're sitting by our usual booth at the Grill, revising for our soon to be History exam. Caroline hates history. She thinks it doesn't matter if it didn't happen in this century. She hates the facts and numbers and remembering all of the things she will never have a practical use of.

I'm different. History is important. Remembering is important. If we let it go, it will be like it never happened. And that's a scary thought, that something might disappear just if we decide to stop repeating it to generation after generation of kids. Like it might get erased from time. No one deserves that.

I can't concentrate today, though. Bonnie is avoiding me, and I'm avoiding Matt. Caroline wants to be there for everyone, and it seems that Stefan doesn't want to be there at all. I haven't seen him since that day on my porch, which was last week. I caught a glimpse of him at school, or at least I think that was him. Our school hallways became a labyrinth.

"Elena!" Caroline shouts my name, violently pulling me out of my thoughts, "Hello? Are you even listening to me?" she demands.

"Yeah, yeah," I say, shaking my head in order to push my demons away and at least try to concentrate on doing what we came here to do.

"Elena?" her voice is gentle, gentle in a way Caroline's voice gets so rarely. I lift my look from the textbook to her face, "What's bothering you?" her face is soft, open, full of understanding, "Spill," she orders me, and I know I have no other options now.

"I wish she had told me," I say quietly, regretfully, "About Matt. Did you know?" I ask, knowing very well that I'm putting her in an uncomfortable position.

She pulls her lips into a thin line, squeezing them together as much as she can, thinking her answer through. "No," she finally answers, "She never told me anything," she takes a small pause, before continuing, "But I had my doubts."

My eyes go wide, "Why didn't you tell me anything?" I ask, feeling betrayed. If she had told me, my actions would be different, I would have been more careful around Matt, careful that he doesn't ever kiss me. Not because of me, but because of Bonnie.

If only I knew. If only someone had told me.

"Because that's all they were. Doubts," she wiggles her lips, her look doubtful, "It's just the way she was around him when you weren't there. She wasn't aggressive, she was free. She was free to talk to him about anything."

"But why does she act like she can't even see him when I'm around?" I ask confused, a frown settling on the bridge of my nose, "She knows I don't like him that way."

Caroline sighs, probably sick and tired of having to draw everything to her socially awkward friend, "Because Matt can't see anyone else when you're around."

Oh.

I wish..

I wish life was easier than this. I wish I didn't get in the way. I'm just a living corpse, I'm not even a real person anymore. How can I create so much drama with the life I lead? All I ever did was try to be invisible.

"It's not your fault, Elena," Caroline reaches across the table for my hand, covering it with hers, "You fall in love with someone and sometimes that person doesn't fall in love with you and that sucks, but it's life. You can't make yourself love someone. You can't read peoples minds either, to know what they're thinking or feeling, especially when they're being so secretive about it, like Bonnie is."

"I shouldn't have kissed him back," I whisper, looking at our joined hands, noticing all the differences, "I should have pushed him away."

"Yeah, you should have," she surprises me with saying this, so I raise my look to her face, looking at her with surprise, "But not because of Bonnie," she continues, "But because of yourself. Because you didn't want it, not really."

"I was curious," I admit shamefully.

She smiles a smile of understanding, making this whole thing easier for me, "I know," she nods, "Not all first kisses are like in the movies. Sometimes they're stolen and messy and wrong. Most of the time they are. And I know that you regret it, but you shouldn't beat yourself up over it, because it's a lesson. Now you know how a wrong kiss feels like, which means you will also know when the right one comes along," she squeezes my hand encouragingly. Then, she raises her eyebrow, just a little, enough for me to know something had caught her attention. "Okay, don't look, but speaking of right things, did Stefan Salvatore just walk into the Grill?"

I look at her confused. "How can I answer that if I'm not allowed to look?"

She thinks this through, and when she realizes the hole in her plan, she rolls her eyes, "Okay, look. By the counter."

I turn my head slowly, rather unnoticeable, or so I hope, towards the counter. Stefan's standing there, leaning over the counter, his elbows leaning against the dark wood.

I shift my attention back to Caroline, who is watching me carefully, awaiting my reaction.

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" I ask, but don't give her a chance to answer, because I'm on my feet as soon as I finish the sentence, if not before.

I head in his direction, hurrying so he doesn't leave before I'm able to reach him. Waiter brings a plastic bag with several yellow containers and hands it over to him. Stefan puts some money down on the counter and thanks him, before turning to leave.

"Stefan," I call for him, "Hey, Stefan."

He stops when he hears his name being called. He turns around and when he sees me he, surprisingly, smiles.

"Elena, hey," he says, a little bit unsure of what I might want from him.

I would expect him to react differently to seeing me, regarding how last encounter went and how it ended.

"Hey," I say again once I finally reach him, standing in front of him, so close, maybe even too close, "I just wanted to apologize," I say, heading straight to the point, "For my behavior, when you came over to see me. It was completely uncalled for. I'm just not used to finding myself in those kinds of situations, so I didn't know how else to react," I'm not trying to excuse my behavior, but rather explain it, after giving it some extensive thought. My lack of experience in life often puts me into awkward situations, because I don't know how to handle things most people deal with everyday.

He seems to be at the loss of words, because he doesn't say anything, he just watches me like he thinks this is the last thing I would be capable of saying, or doing.

"I also wanted to thank you," I refuse to let any of my words go to waste, so I decide to get them all out before he has a chance to stop me, "For doing what you did for me the night of the party," I can feel my cheeks blushing a little, and I try to mentally will them not to do that. Don't let him know how flustered I am, I ask my body. No, I beg it.

"It seemed unwise to leave a 17 year old girl in the middle of the street yelling for someone to take her to her bedroom," he says, and I chuckle.

He's one of the rare people who can get out of me something more than a smile. Who can actually make me release a sound.

"Well, thank you, and I'm sorry for putting you through that, having to watch me take my make-up off and, you know," my tongue stumbles, trying to stop the word from coming out, "undress."

Amusement colors his features. "You're apologizing for letting me see you half naked?" he laughs a little, not loud, but enough for me to hear. He shares a laugh with me, it's private. "Elena, that wasn't exactly a torture for me. Quite the opposite."

My whole face becomes red, and I know that there's no chance of stopping it this time. How? How could it not be a torture for him? It's a torture for me, to see myself without any clothes on.

When I say nothing, he continues, "But it seems a little unfair. I told you I usually buy girls dinner first, before letting them undress in front of me," he smiles, shyly, like he doesn't usually say these kinds of things, "So how about that? Will you let me buy you dinner?"

What?

An alarm goes off in my head.

No, no, no.

Run. Run far away.

I don't know am I telling this to myself, or to him.

You don't want me. You don't want to have a meal with me. You don't want to have a conversation with me. You don't want anything from me.

At least, you shouldn't.

"No," I squeeze out.

He cocks his eyebrow at me, "No?" he asks surprised, like he's not used to hearing this from anyone. Like he's not used to getting rejected.

"I don't go on dates," I say, buried in place. I can't move. I can't breathe. I'm frozen.

He squints at me, confused. "Are you not allowed to?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No, it's my choice."

He doesn't say anything, he just watches me. We keep on looking at each other. I expect him to make the next move. Maybe he expects the same from me.

It takes him some times, but finally he says, "I see. Well, maybe when I ask you another time, you choose differently."

His response knocks the breath right out of my lungs. Elena Gilbert doesn't date, everyone know that, so no one even bothers to ask anymore. But not Stefan Salvatore. He doesn't know anything.

And when I decide to tell him, when I decide to share this piece of information with him, he shrugs it off. Like it's nothing. Like it's a joke.

"I have to go now," he says, "I'll see you around, Elena."

As I watch him leave, I wish I'm capable of doing something more than just blink.


	7. Chapter 7

I think that, somehow, I always knew I'm going to die young. I never made any plans, or had dreams, or develop an idea about how my life will, or should, look like when I grow up. It's like I knew, even from a very young age, that it's pointless, because I'm not going to have any of that. I'm not going to live long enough to see my idea of life unravel in front of my eyes. I'm not going to live long enough to make this life worthwhile. I'm not going to have enough time.

I was the only child who didn't aspire to be a princess, or a teacher, or a doctor. I would always say that I just don't know.

Maybe because I was never good at anything. I liked to dance, I learned how to, but I was never a natural. I never had that something which makes dancers _dancers_. When you love something, when you're good at something, you live it. You live it through everyday things. You move and think and talk in a certain way - like a dancer, a gymnast, a writer. A simple hobby you took as a child becomes who you are. It starts defining you. You become that person who dances their way through a school hallways, or that student who's always excused from classes because they're always practicing or competing, that person with an unfinished book in their bag. To others, you become more than your name and the house you live in and clothes you wear - to others, you become what you love, what you do, what you love doing, and that's who you are.

_Who am I?_

To most people, I'm that girl who has cancer. That's something that also happens, sometimes. You become the thing you hate. Sometimes it's out of your control, sometimes you control the situation fully.

Does my cancer define me, or did I let it define me? How would my life look like if I did some things differently? What would people say about me then? Would those _oh, she has cancer,_ whispers disappear, whenever someone makes an acquisition about me? Why doesn't she date? Why doesn't she have more friends? Why doesn't she get out more? Where does she disappear to when the last bell rings? _Oh, she has cancer._ And everyone nod, understanding, like it's an excuse, or a viable explanation.

What if I ran a marathon, or continued dancing, or win a beauty contest? Would I be considered a runner, a dancer, beautiful? Or would people still say, _she keeps dancing, despite her cancer_?

Sometimes you become the thing you hate, and it's out of your control. Sometimes things, and people, define you, without you choosing them to.

I stare at the blank page on my laptop screen. Mr. Anderson is young, and innovative, and understands us kids because few years ago he was one of us, and sometimes he acts like he fell out straight from Glee. He says he doesn't want to be one of those teachers who get stuck in a rut, just teaching his students about facts or words or years. He doesn't want to ask _what did the writer wanted to say with that_ for the rest of his life. He wants us to ask that question by ourselves.

So he often gives us these neat little tasks to write about. We should write down what we want from life. He doesn't limit us by the number of words, or form of writing. He gives us full freedom. The only thing we need to do is hand it in when he says so. Which is two days from now, and I don't have a single word written down, or a thought in my head, because I don't want anything from life.

At one point, I wrote down that I want to be healthy again, but I deleted it. It's such a vague answer. You're never really healthy. Before I had cancer, I had a flu, and before that, I was overweight. There are so few days in my life that I spent healthy.

Also, there are so many people who are ill, seriously ill. And this task is not about majority, it's about us.

Half an hour later, and my page is still completely blank, as well as my mind. I growl at my laptop, annoyed an exhausted, pulling it shut.

"Bad, bad technology," I hear a voice coming from behind me.

I jump out of surprise, before spinning in my chair only to catch aunt Jenna leaning against the door frame.

She's grinning at me, or rather at my reaction to hearing her voice.

"Is your mom home?" she asks.

"No," I shake my head, "She took Jeremy to the mall to buy new sneakers."

Jenna sighs, clearly unhappy about this turn of event, but she doesn't complain. She never complains. She's codependent on my mother, which is not surprising since it's my mother who raised her. Grandma died few years after aunt Jenna was born and few years before I was, so I never got to meet her. Aunt Jenna lived with her dad until she went to college, but I remember her spending a lot of the time at our house.

I don't think she's incapable, I just think she's used to having my mother by her side all the time. She never complains when my mother is busy with other stuff, though.

She eyes me carefully, her eyes watching my face intently. I've been feeling pretty tired these last few days, and even though I haven't said anything to anyone, it must show on my face. I get paler, and my eyes fall into my sockets which only expresses my cheekbones more.

I've been feeling sick and tired a lot lately, weak and moody, and I don't want to think about it. I keep hoping it will pass. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it's just my body reacting to other things in my life. Sometimes it's cancer, playing with me, little by little. Teasing me, scaring me, letting me know I've won few battles, but not the war.

It's hiding, like a coward, preserving energy for its next attack. That's how I know that, when it comes, it's going to be its final.

"So," she steps into my room, her eyes never leaving my face, "What you're up to?"

I love my aunt. I really do. But sometimes she's too noisy. Sometimes she can't see that I'm not in the mood for company. Like now.

"I have this English assignment to write," I try to give her a hint that I have no free time, that I'm swamped with schoolwork.

Unfortunately, Jenna is not big on getting hints. She turns her back to me and walks over to my shelf, going through my things. Books, stuffed animals, pictures, few dancing trophies, snow globes. Lots of them.

"Mhm," she takes a snow globe in her hand, shaking it, "On what?" she sounds like she really wants to know, more than anything. But with her, just like with Caroline, you never know. They sound excited about almost everything.

I weigh in on should I tell her the truth or not, but when I can't think of a quick, decent lie, I go with the truth, "On what we want from life."

She nods. I can see her head go up and down, even though she doesn't turn around. "And that's something you have a problem writing about?" her inner psychologist comes out.

I don't say anything. No matter what I say, she's going to turn it around the way she wants it, because she already knows there's something going on with me.

Sometimes she knows, even before I know myself. Or before I let myself realize it.

When I stay quiet, she turns around. "You're pale," she says. She doesn't sound worried, or panicky. She's simply stating a fact, coldly, briskly. She got that from my mother. Maybe it's genes, maybe it's something they both acquired through life. Whatever it is, I didn't seem to catch it, because what I'm feeling is always visible on my face. I can't stop it. I can't pretend. "You look thinner, which means you haven't eaten a lot these past few days, which can only mean the food is making you nauseous."

I lower my head down to avoid her look.

My mother doesn't even notice anymore. Sometimes she's so intent on keeping me healthy that she doesn't even notice that I'm not healthy at all.

She has gotten used to my state. She wants to keep it this way, so things don't get worse. She doesn't want to push her luck.

But this is not enough for me. This half life is only making my sicker on other accounts.

"You also seem tired, which means you haven't been getting enough sleep," she continues, "Now, I don't want to jump to conclusions, it could be school or boy troubles or whatever. So before I say anything, I have to know, what is it?"

I don't say anything. I'm frozen in place. Words are stuck in my throat, making me sick, refusing to go either up or down.

"Are you unwell, Elena?" she asks, and her voice is not even anymore. Those four words shake as they roll off of her tongue. Especially my name. She sounds.. afraid.

And I don't want to do that to the people I love. Make them worry about me, hide my symptoms until things get out of control.

"I don't know," I shrug, slowly looking back at her, "A little bit of both. I do feel stressed about.." my mind reels back to Matt, Bonnie, Stefan. All the mistakes I made. Bad choices I've made. Things I didn't notice. Offers I've turned down. "Things," I decide to say, "So those may be affecting my physical health."

She doesn't question my honesty. Somehow she always knows when I'm lying to her. Maybe I'm just a bad liar.

"When was your last check up?" her voice goes back to being calm, stoic.

"Few weeks ago," I say, dreading the next one, which will be pretty soon. One each moth. More, if my condition gets worse. Less, if it gets better. It's been a year since I've been doing one check up per month thing. "Everything was fine," I say to assure her, even though I'm sure she needs no reminding of it. If things weren't fine, she would have remembered.

She keeps glaring at me without saying another word, which is how I know her mind took her places, like mine always does. My mother is always on the top of things, never allowing herself to get distracted, but Jenna and me often wander away from reality.

After some time she exhales loudly, her look softening. "If something happens, you have to tell someone, okay?" she asks me as if I'm a child, as if I don't know better. She even adds, "You have to be careful."

_You have to be careful, you do remember what happened the last time, don't you,_ is something I often hear from my mother. Aunt Jenna doesn't say the second part, but I'm sure she thinks it.

The last time I didn't tell anyone how bad I am was the day before I was supposed to go back to school. I was dizzy, warm. My body got so hot in just a short period of time. It felt like I'm standing in the center of the sun. I took several cold showers, but they didn't have any effect on me. Finally, my whole body had started hurting. There was a commotion on the inside of my body, like my organs were having an argument, loud, violent one. I didn't say anything because I was afraid they won't let me go back to school. Ever.

_It will pass,_ I kept telling myself. _It will pass._

But it didn't pass.

I lost consciousness in the kitchen while taking some cold milk. I remember how my mother kept asking me how am I feeling, am I excited for tomorrow.

I passed out in the middle of her question, my body falling down, crashing on the tiles. I woke up in the hospital almost 24 hours later. As it turns out, I've had internal bleeding.

See, cancer is like a truck, and your insides are a road too small for it. Your organs are too close and it just can't pass between them. But it keeps trying, squeezing itself between them, knocking them out of its way. You never know what's going to happen next. Symptoms connected to the cancer are easy to detect, but the consequences it has on the rest of your body is what catches you unprepared.

I force a small smile on my face, "I will."

We keep looking at each other for a while. I'm wishing her away and she's weighing on should she trust me or not. Finally, she nods, and before turning on her heel, says, "Well, I should go. Tell your mom I stopped by and that I'll give her a ring later."

"I will," I say, watching her leave.

When she reaches the door, one foot in the hallway, the other almost there as well, she turns to me and says, "Elena, regarding your writing assignment.." she seems to hesitate, but after few minutes she just spits it out, "In order to know what you want from life, I think, you first have to allow yourself to live."

* * *

Matt keeps asking me _do I want to do something,_ and I'm starting to run out of excuses. How many ways are there to say no to a person?

The more he keeps asking, the more I feel guilty for turning him down. He's really sweet, just.. he's not my kind of sweet.

Bonnie is still not talking to me or looking at me, really. Caroline is jogging from me to her, refusing to give out Bonnie's location, like I'm going to come and tackle them. Which I would do at this point, I'm desperate enough. I've tried texting her, calling her, I left messages on her phone. Nothing. She erased me from her life completely.

I didn't know any boy is worthy of that.

Caroline offered to have lunch with her today, since she had it with me yesterday, but Bonnie said she's going to hang with her debate team. Caroline probably feels like a child of divorce. Again.

I'm glad she's here, though, I would hate to be stuck with Tyler and Matt, alone.

"Yeah, but the tickets are impossible to get now in a normal price range," Tyler explains calmly.

"I know," Caroline sighs, dropping a french fry in her mouth, "I just really wanted to go."

They're discussing some concert in Atlanta. I'm barely paying attention to what they're saying because I'm too busy keeping my head down to avoid Matt's pleading stare.

"Go where?" I hear a voice coming from behind me, instantly whipping my head up. Stefan comes into my view and sits opposite of me, next to Tyler. I can feel Matt's eyes on me when I smile back at Stefan who smiles at me first.

"Coldplay are playing in Atlanta on the 30th," Tyler answers, "But the tickets are sold out and people who are reselling tickets are out of their mind judging by how much they're asking for them," his voice implying that he's disgusted by it.

"I have tickets," Stefan says casually, his mouth full of cheese puffs. His lips are orange, and I have to hold my laughter in as I watch him try to hold all the cheese puffs inside of his mouth while talking.

Caroline leans on the table, squealing, "You do?"

"Yeah," he says, trying to get his food down. When he's done chewing, he adds, "Elena's going with me."

My expression becomes serious, somber, like someone just splashed my face with cold water. I don't feel like laughing anymore.

"I am?" I say at the same time Caroline asks, "She is?"

Her voice holds more surprise and confusion than mine.

"I mean, I'm not," I say when I manage to shake the initial shock off.

"And why the hell not?" Caroline raises her voice, differing very much from her tone just few seconds ago.

"Because, A, he never asked me - "

"I think he just kinda did," she says, her glare burning into my skin so much that it physically pains me, obviously angry at me for turning this opportunity down.

"And B," I continue despite her interruption, "I don't know any songs by Coldplay."

"Wait," this time Stefan is the one to make an interruption, "You don't know a single song by Coldplay?" he squints at me like he doesn't believe me.

"No," I emphasize my answer by shaking my head.

"How does one not know at least one song by Coldplay?" he asks in disbelief, but not me. He's looking at Caroline. I can't believe this. They're ganging up on me.

"Urgh," Caroline makes an incomprehensible sound, "I forgot. Elena's not into music."

Stefan slowly shifts his attention from her back to me, his eyes full of disbelief, like he thinks we're lying to him. "Not into.." he doesn't even finish his sentence, instead he lifts his hands in the air, his open palms facing me, "You know what? Forget it."

I roll my eyes. "Don't be such a pretentious jerk," I smile a little so he knows that I'm joking.

"And I will try to fix you," he says in a sing song voice.

I squint my eyes at him, "What's that supposed to mean."

He stays silent for a moment, staring at me, like all of this is some test. "You would know if you listened to Coldplay," he says completely calm, cocking his eyebrow at me.

I can hear Caroline chuckle beside me.

I take a handful of cheese puffs and throw them in his face.

"Hey," he says, picking the snack from his lap, "Don't abuse the cheese puffs, this is not their fault."

I make a face at him. "I hate cheese puffs," I don't know why I just said that. I don't hate cheese puffs. I freaking love cheese puffs.

He makes a face as if he's offended by my comment, "You don't really mean that. Take it back."

My lips stretch into a wide smile, "No," I shake my head disobediently.

"Hmm," he says, picking one extra large cheese puff from his plate, "Maybe this one will change your mind," he extends his arm in my direction, waving a cheese puff in front of my mouth.

I grab it. I actually grab it with my teeth.

"That's disgusting," I say while chewing it in anticipation to swallow this deliciousness down to my tummy.

His laugh is light and quiet when he says, "You say that but your orange cheesy puffy lips are giving you away."

"Wow, okay," Caroline says, which brings me back to reality. We're not alone. There are people around us. People who can see us. I forgot about them, I forgot about what I'm doing, I forgot that I'm not supposed to be doing that. He made me forget. "Can we stop pretending that Elena refusing to go to a Coldplay concert is not a big deal?"

"It's okay," Stefan shrugs it off, "Maybe next time."

"What next time?" Caroline yells, annoyed, almost climbing on the top of a table, "This is the first time Coldplay is preforming in the close proximity of us! There will be no next time!" she puffs, clearly too worked up over this.

But I know to what he's referring to, and it's not a Coldplay concert. My mind goes back to that day in the Grill when he asked me out for dinner. I remember what he said then, when I turned him down. That maybe next time I'll choose differently. This means he won't stop asking.

"I can give you guys the tickets," Stefan says.

I can basically hear Caroline's breath get stuck in her throat. "What?" she asks quietly, not sure she had heard him right.

"Yeah, Damon got a bunch of them for free because of some sponsorship deal, so it's really no big deal."

"Are you for real?" she asks, not because she doesn't believe him, but because she can't comprehend that this is really happening.

"Yeah," he says through laughter.

"Oh my God!" Caroline squeals, almost piercing my ear drums, "Thank you thank you thank you," she repeats probably hundred times, basically throwing herself over the table to give Stefan a hug.

She must have sucked all the air out of the room. Maybe that's why I feel like I can't breathe.

"I have to go," I stand up abruptly, trying to get to my bag.

"Where - " she starts, but I'm already walking away, my bag swaying in the air behind me, dangling on my little finger, "Elena, wait!" I hear her yelling after me, but I don't stop, I can't stop.

I run into the hallway. I feel like my lungs are going to burst open. The hallways are empty, everyone are in the cafeteria, eating lunch, our doing the same outside. I lean against a wall, trying to catch my breath.

I don't know if this is happening because of what happened in there. Anxiety, embarrassment, anger, confusion over the way I acted. Of how I've allowed myself to act. Or if this is because of cancer. I can feel a change in my body, but I don't know the cause of it, I can't determine if it's good or bad, if it's excitement or actual lack of air.

_I don't know, I don't know, I don't know._

I stay in that position for a while, until students start bursting into the hallway from all sides. I push myself off of the wall and start walking towards my locker.

I can hear someone calling my name. It's faint, far away, lost in the sea of voices. I don't turn around, not until I feel someones fingers grazing my shoulder.

"Caroline," I say, assuming it's her, "I - " but when I turn around I realize it's not her. "Oh," I say, blushing for my mistake, "Matt. Hi."

He doesn't say anything, he just keeps looking at me, like he's gathering courage to say something. It makes me feel uncomfortable. I fear he's going to ask me out again.

"Is it because of him?" he asks. My expression must show that I have no idea what he's talking about, because he continues, "Did you turn me down all those times because of Stefan?"

"What?" I ask just in case I didn't hear him right.

"Because I can see how you're around him," he frowns, but I'm not sure why. He doesn't look angry. "You're never like that with me. Or anyone else for that matter," he points out.

"What?" I ask again, feeling like a fool, so I add, "No. It has nothing to do with him."

"I was actually hoping it does," he laughs nervously, desperately, confusing me even further, "Because then at least I would have an explanation to why you keep saying no to me. After the party, I hoped that - "

"Matt," I interrupt him because I can't allow him to go any further. It's about time I put a stop to this, once and for all.

"Yeah?" he says with a shaky voice.

"I'm so sorry," I say, not caring that there are people all around us, able to hear every word. I can't hold this inside anymore. I have to say it, because if I don't do it now, I don't know when I'll gather enough courage to do it again. "I made a mistake. I should have never kissed you back," my voice is not rough as I say this, at least I try not to make it rough. Instead I try to make my words come out softly, quietly, with extra care, as if they're going to break if I push them out any harder. "It's time I finally tell you this, because we've known each other for a long time, and we're friends," I don't take my eyes off of his as I say this, "I care about you, Matt. A lot. But I just don't like you like that."

After I say this, he doesn't say anything for a while. And when he does, his words take me by surprise, because what he says is the last thing I would expect from him to say.

"How do you know?" he asks, but he doesn't sound angry. He sounds upset more than anything.

"Excuse me?" I push him to explain further.

"How do you know you don't like me like that? You never give anyone a chance to get close to you, including me," he says, "You shut yourself off from the world. You're missing out on so much. I don't think you even know the difference between what you do and don't like."

I open my mouth, but no words come out. I'm speechless. I don't know what to say to this. So I say the first thing that comes to my mind, "I don't have to go through every guy that looks my way to know I don't actually like him."

"Well maybe you do," he says, a little bit of spite present in his voice.

"Wow," I say, a little offended. I know I've made a mistake with Matt. I should have told him all of this a long time ago. I knew that he likes me for a long time now, even though I kept pretending I don't. Maybe I really was leading him on. But I never expected him to react like this. "You're telling me about missing out on things, but you're so hung up on one girl you can't have that you're not even seeing all the girls you can have."

This seems to catch him off guard, his eyes go wide as surprise colors his features. Like it's impossible for someone else to like him.

It's funny how people think nobody is looking at them just because they're not looking back at that person, but in a different direction.

"You're a great guy, Matt, and you could make some girl really happy," I say honestly, "But I'm not that girl. I'm not your girl."

He seems stunned, but he finds the words he wants to say, anyway. "And whose girl are you?"

"Nobody's," I say after a while, "I'll never be anybody's girl," I try not to sound too desperate as I say it.

Something in his eyes shifts. From anger to.. pity. For me.

I've seen that look one time too many to miss it, but in this case, I try to ignore it.

"Are you going to be okay?" I ask.

He nods almost instantly. "Yeah," he steps away from me, adding before turning away, "It will take some time. I need time," are the last words I hear, in the form of a murmur, as he walks away from me.

Me too, Matt. Me too.

You just have a hell lot more of it than I do.

* * *

_**AN: I'm sorry my updates have been so slow and rare, I was real busy with some personal stuff, but hopefully my schedule will clear up starting this week. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter as much as, judging by your reviews, you enjoyed the previous ones :)**_


	8. Chapter 8

I come straight home from school, something I rarely do. We either go to the mall, or hang out at the Grill, or I take the long way home. Today, I wasn't in the mood for any of those things.

Caroline kept her eye on me for the rest of the day, asking me at least twenty times is there something wrong, while I kept answering that everything's okay. I tried to put on a brave face, even give her one of those reassuring smiles, but the truth is, nothing is okay. Everything is just wrong.

When I come home, for a first time after a long while, there's no one there. My mother is usually sitting by the table, sipping her lukewarm coffee and watching the clock tick, until the squeak the front door make finally announces my arrival. She's on her feet as soon as I step inside, checking out my condition, swarming me with questions I, by now, know by memory. It annoys the hell out of me, someone wanting to know how I spent every second of my day without them, but now that she's not here to do exactly that, I feel like something is missing.

It's a change. I don't like change, is something new I learn about myself.

And there's a lot of change happening recently, within me, around me.

I wish I could talk with someone about it, which is the biggest change out of them all, because I'm not the one to talk about my problems. I'm used to keeping them all bottled up, squishing them one on the top of the other. But there's too many of them now, they don't fit, the pressure is too big and the bottle is going to explode.

I go upstairs, enter my bedroom and plop my body on the bed. It falls down soundlessly, relentlessly, like it weighs less than nothing.

I don't know where all of this is coming from, this sudden burst of energy, wild will to live, to explore, to run. To love. It scares me and excites me at the same time. I feel like I've been living inside of a box my whole life and, to me, everything is new. The sun, the streets, people. I'm free and I want to do everything at the same time.

This feeling has been building up in me for quite some time, even though I was successful in suppressing it. But now it's at the door and I can't hold it in any longer. I'm not even sure I want to.

There are so many things I want to do. I want to pack a bag and go to the gym. I want to start dancing again. I want to sit my mom down and calmly explain to her that I'm ready to be a person again. I want to hug my mom and talk to her about boys and school and clothes. I want to say _yes_ to Jeremy when he asks me do I want to play a video game with him, and I want to say _yes_ to Jenna when she proposes we go to the mall. I want to go on a trip, just sit in the car and drive. For hours. Days. I want to build a fort out of pillows and blankets in our backyard and eat nothing but cookies for the whole day. I want to feel that sugar rush again.

I want so many things. The list is endless. For every item on my _not to do_ list there's at least ten items to counter them on this one. I want everything that is forbidden. Everything I tried to take away from myself.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I feel calm. Peaceful. My mind is at ease. But I also feel charged with energy, ready to jump on my feet and move, like there's a storm coming my way and I'll have to run to escape it.

_I want to live._

That thought shakes me up from the inside, creating a commotion inside of my head.

_Live, live, live._

It's been a year. Everything's been fine for a year. You're just 17 years old. _Live._

My eyelids fly open, fast. My muscles are jumping up and down, pulsating, even while I'm lying down. I straighten myself up, resolve filling me from the inside, I move to my feet. The ground is hard and heavy, trying to stop my feet from what I'm about to do. But I drag them with a force I wasn't even aware I have in me.

I stand in front of my mirror and take a good, long look at myself. I want to peel my skin off. I want to step out of it because I can already feel another layer of it getting etched around my bones. I want to step out of this suit I've been wearing because it became too small for me. It doesn't fit anymore.

I stand taller. Larger. Heavier. Better than before.

There's a girl inside of this skin and she wants to get out.

I smile faintly at myself, grabbing my car keys. I can feel the metal clunking against my bony fingers, hitting them like it's trying to break them, or slow them down at the very least. But my bones are not made out of dust, they can't break that easily, and the skin covering them is as tough as metal itself.

I am not weak anymore. _I survived._

I go downstairs, no one's still home, so I head for my car. I get in, this new feeling, this welcomed bliss, still stirring inside of me, so I start the car as soon as I settle in out of fear this condition is only temporary.

I drive for several minutes, trying to clear my head of all the unnecessary things, trying to think about what I'm going to say when I get there. My mind is a beehive, swarming with thoughts and decisions and choices I'm going to make lead by this new set of emotion. I try to wish all of that away, though, so I can pick out the right words to say and the right order to say them.

I don't have much time, though, since I'm already here. I turn the engine off, sitting in my car for a little while longer to gather my thoughts. This conversation is long overdue. I take a deep breath before leaving my car and taking a narrow, paved path towards the house. I climb on the porch and, without giving it a second thought, I ring the doorbell.

I wait there for what seems like hours when in reality it can't be more than few seconds. A minute, at most. Then, the doors fly open.

"Elena?" her voice is full of surprise, as well as her features. She never expected me to make a first move, to be the one to come to her. She's not used to me showing I care enough to do that, even though she always very well knew I do. I care.

I swallow hard, everything I planned to say suddenly disappearing from my mind. I'm left alone. "We have to talk," I say nevertheless.

I don't know if she's still surprised, or hesitating, because she doesn't do anything for quite some time, except stand there quiet, her eyes stilled on mine.

The only thing I know is that I have to talk to her. All this new found courage can't be for nothing.

I guess she decides she has to talk to me as well, because she says, swinging the doors wide open and stepping aside, "Come in."

So I do.

We walk over to her room, and she closes the door shut so no other noise can come in, or out.

I don't know what to say. Which words should come out first, and which ones last. My throat contracts, its walls closing.

She just stands there, staring at the floor, her arms crossed over her chest. She's waiting for me to say something.

"I talked to Matt," I grab the first thought that I see flying through my mind and form it into a sentence.

She whips her head up so fast I'm almost sure it gives her a small headache. Surprise colors her features once again, her caramel eyes growing _wide, wide, wide,_ even wider. "Really?" she can't hide the surprise in her voice, she doesn't even try to.

"Yeah," I nod slowly, "You were right. I was unfair to him. I never promised him anything, but sometimes, not saying anything is worse than saying the wrong thing. In a way, I was stringing him along," once the words start coming out, they refuse to stop. My thoughts drop to my stomach where they travel _up, up, up,_ until they finally reach my throat. The process is all wrong, reversed, making me sick, but I guess things like this aren't supposed to be easy. My mouth won't stop manufacturing words. "It was like I was saving him for.. I don't know," I shake my head lightly, confused by this new discovery, "For a possibility of some life where I might allow myself to have the things he kept silently offering me. He was my safety net, and I was probably doing it without being aware of my actions. Nevertheless, it was selfish from me. I had to let him go."

I never thought it's possible to let go of something, or someone, that was never yours, but I guess I was wrong.

I've been wrong about so many things, because there was so much thinking involved, but so little doing.

When I'm done, I can't even remember saying half of these words. I don't know how they came to me, or why, but I'm thankful that they had, because they're a lot better than silence. Silence is what got me in this situation in the first place.

Something visibly gets stuck in Bonnie's throat but she finds a way around it to speak, "And how did he react to it?"

This time, I think about my answer. "He could have reacted better," I decide to say, "But he could have reacted a lot worse as well. He said he needs time."

She nods few times in a row, at first slowly, then fast, before dropping her head down.

"Bonnie, I'm so sorry," I start saying.

"Elena.." she says my name rather reluctantly, but says it nevertheless.

I don't stop though, I have to say this. "I'm sorry for not taking your feelings into account. I'm sorry for not even noticing them. I'm sorry for never thinking to even ask," it's only now that it hits me that I never asked. Just because she never said anything doesn't mean there wasn't something she was dying to say. "I was.. I always think too much about myself and too little about others. But that will change, I promise," and I mean it. It has to change, not just for the sake of others, but for my sake as well. "I can't lose you," I strain my voice when I say those words, "And I don't want a boy to come between us ever again."

She raises her head, a small frown resting on the bridge on her nose. Her eyes get darker when they settle on mine, "Do you think Matt is the reason why I got angry with you?" she asks, somewhat disappointed I somehow missed the real reason.

I'm still missing it. I shake slightly, my lips quivering with every other inch of my body as I ask, "He's not?"

"No!" she raises her voice, her face red. It throws both of us off, because Bonnie rarely shows her emotions. She quickly regains her composure, though, and continues in a calmer manner, "He's as much of a reason as he's not," she answers vaguely, "My main reason was how you treat the whole situation."

"What situation?" I ask, my right eyebrow going up, creating wrinkles on my forehead.

"Elena," she exhales my name, like she's tired of saying it out loud, "You're sick. And we don't talk about it. Ever."

I cross my arms over my chest defensively. "What's there to talk about?" I sound angrier than I am.

Bonnie winces at the sound of my voice, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. "I'm your friend, Elena, and I miss you terribly. I miss you terribly and you're not even gone," her voice shakes as those words come out.

They squeeze around my body, knocking whatever air there is right out of my lungs. She doesn't even give me a chance to recover, when she continues.

"I'm tired of watching you do this to yourself. What happened with Matt was just a drop that tipped the whole glass over," she drops her arms to hang beside her body, "You made yourself disappear. You act like you're going to die tomorrow, like all the progress you've made so far doesn't even matter. You've already taken so much from yourself, and you keep on doing it. Everything just stopped for you," she takes a big intake of air, "And when it did, it stopped for me too."

I keep looking at her, not knowing what to say. What to think. I know she's right. Every word that came out of her mouth is the truth. But it stills hurts. It's still worse hearing it out loud than inside of my head.

"I know you're not doing any of this to hurt anyone. You're doing it to protect yourself. I can understand that. But Elena.." she stops for a moment, catching my look, "One day we're all going to die. And whenever you go, a year from now or when you're 80, you don't want to die thinking about all the moments you stole from yourself because you were afraid."

I bow my head down so she can't see tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.

We weren't supposed to have this conversation. I was supposed to say I'm sorry, and she was supposed to either forgive me or not.

But despite it, despite me not being prepared to talk about it, despite my unwillingness to do so, I say, "I don't want to die." No. I whisper it. I whisper it so silently that barely I hear it.

"What?" she asks, because she can see my lips moving, she can hear the murmur each letter creates, but she can't make sense of it.

I raise my head up, my eyes glossy with tears. I know they are because her image is blurry behind this curtain of tears. I blink, and it's gone, I can see her so clearly, but there's a wet trail on my cheeks now.

"I don't want to die," my voice is still silent, but this time loud enough for her to hear, "I want to live. But _I can't, I can't, I can't,_" I repeat _I can't_ several times, like a broken record, because I feel like one, "Because when they come to take it away I won't know how to give it up."

I clasp my open palm over my mouth to stop any more words from spilling out, but I don't think I could stop this torrent of words, even if I used every drop of power in me.

"I want so many things Bonnie," I say, words colliding with my palm, "But I'm afraid, I'm so afraid, I'm afraid that in the end it's going to hurt so much more that way," I sit down on her bed, feeling the saltiness of my tears on the edge of my lips.

I can see her rushing towards me. The next thing I know I can feel the weight of her body pressing against the mattress, her arm going around me, her shushed voice near my ear, "Oh, Elena.."

"I'm sorry Bonnie, I never meant to hurt you with my behavior," I manage to say, my voice jumping up and down, each letter sounding different than it's supposed to.

"This isn't about me," she squeezes my shoulder with her fingers.

"But it is," I argue, "You're a part of my life. What happens to me affects you too."

Sometimes I forget that. Sometimes I forget that I'm not alone in this. Our lives are intertwined with the lives of other people as well. There are so many people we interact with. People we love, people who love us. Our lives are etched with so many souls.

"I want to live," I cover her hand with mine, squeezing it lightly, "Not just for myself. For you as well."

I am here. I am loved. I'm not going to rob other people of myself anymore, just like I'm not going to rob myself of their company either.

I am here. I am _alive_.

* * *

When I leave Bonnie's house, I feel ten pounds lighter. Like I got rid of some awfully heavy weight I've been dragging around with me. Who could have known words and thoughts weigh so much.

Who could have thought they can weigh you down?

Those words still scare me, though, even now when they're out. Maybe now more than ever, because I don't have a control over them anymore. They can flow freely, to whomever they want.

I feel a little lightheaded, but this time I'm sure it's because of this roller coaster I've been on.

When I arrive home, I greet everyone as politely as possible. My mother wonders where I've been, so I tell her the truth. I can see that she's surprised by how calm my voice is, followed by my peaceful attitude. So she doesn't ask any questions when I tell her that I have some homework to do.

I walk upstairs and shut the door behind myself, quietly, not to give my frustration away.

I try to sit down, but my body is too restless. Every muscle in my body is screaming at me to move. _Move, move, move. _It feels like my nerve endings are on fire, making my body react accordingly.

I get up and start pacing around to room, making full circles. I worry that my mother is going to hear me and come upstairs to ask me what's wrong. I don't want her to come because I don't know what I would tell her.

My fingers want to grab something, so I plunge them into a pillow. Too easy. Too soft.

I want to scream, but whatever wants to come out is stuck inside of my throat.

I know what it is. I know what I want. I know what I wanted for quite some time now. The conversation I've had with Bonnie only pushed me to admit it to myself.

I give in to myself and reach for my phone. My shaky finger starts going over the screen of my phone, searching. I stop when a name appears, watching those six white letters on a black background, grinning at me. Teasing me. Challenging me.

_One. Two. Three._ I hit a little green button with a headphone in it.

I listen to it ring for one, two, three, four seconds, my hands shaking, my thoughts quivering inside of my throat as they morph into words I never thought I'll gather enough courage to say out loud. They echo inside of my body, creating a quake so powerful my organs start reorganizing themselves. My heart is trying to push itself out of my ribcage by beating too fast, too loud. Two beats too much per second.

_"Hello,"_ I hear the voice on the other side.

Air. Where did all the air go?

_"Hello?"_ the voice repeats when I don't say anything.

I clear my throat, sucking some air into my lungs, but it feels as if my lungs have disappeared and the air goes through my whole body, chilling me to the bone. "Stefan, hi," my voice sounds strange, unnatural. _Afraid. _"It's Elena," I introduce myself. He probably doesn't have my number. I stole his from Caroline a week ago when she went to the bathroom. Just in case.

"Elena?" he says my name, big question mark hanging in the air.

"Yes, Elena from the - "

I start, but he cuts me off almost immediately. "I know who you are," he says in such a way that I know he's smiling, "I'm just surprised to hear from you."

I'm so nervous that I can't even show any other emotion.

"Surprised," I repeat, like it's some new word I've just learned. "Good surprised, or.." words keep on coming by themselves, like my brain is not controlling the course of my thoughts, "Bad surprised?" I ask.

He laughs lightly, like he's surprised I even have to ask.

"Good, good," he repeats the word twice, but it keeps echoing in my head, sounding like he's still repeating it. _Good_. Infinite times good.

When I don't say anything, too occupied by his voice in my head, he asks, "How can I help you?"

Here it comes. I hope it comes. I hope words don't get lost somewhere on the way to my mouth. "Do you still have those tickets?" my voice keeps bouncing off of the walls of my bedroom, "For the concert?"

He stays quiet for few seconds, seconds that feel like years, I can see seasons change in front of my eyes while waiting for his answer. The scary thing is that I would wait that long, I would wait for the Earth to make 365 spins, and then I would wait one more day, and when the night comes, another one.

"Yes, I believe I do," he finally answers.

"I've changed my mind," I say more boldly, but careful enough not to sound self conceited, "I would like to go with you."

I expect him to tease me. To make a show out of it. To make me feel shame for crawling back to him after I've turned him down just few hours ago.

But he doesn't. All he says is, "Okay."

I exhale, relieved.

"I promised Tyler and Caroline tickets," he reminds me, "And Damon is going with.. well, he's bringing someone. So we could all go together."

"Yes," I agree, hopefully not too enthusiastic, "I would like that."

"Great," he replies, his voice even, "I'll see you at school tomorrow then."

We say goodbye and hang up.

Something flashes through me. I open my laptop and turn it on.

Aunt Jenna was right. In order to know what you want from life, first you have to live it.

Bonnie was right as well.

I did such an awful thing to myself. I gave up even when things started looking up. Especially then. Out of fear. Because I didn't want to tempt fate.

But the thing is, what's bound to happen will happen. There's no going around it. You can't postpone either life or death.

I'm going to die. One day. Maybe in two months, maybe in two years, maybe I'll outlive everyone.

But I don't want to die while I'm still alive.

I open my English assignment where I've only written my name so far. I sit down and type, the tips of my fingers dancing over the keyboard. I write it down. One sentence. Eight words. Twenty four letters. One comma, one full stop.

_In this life, I want to be alive._


	9. Chapter 9

I think I'm having an out of the body experience.

We're lying on the floor of Caroline's bedroom. I'm on my back, comfy soft cushions supporting my spine, while Caroline is painting my nails. She won't tell me what color she's using, which makes me quite nervous. I'm afraid it's one of those I don't really like, like neon green, or turquoise.

That fear doesn't stick with me for a long time, anyway, because Caroline turns on her Coldplay playlist. That's why I'm here in the first place, to get acquainted with their music. We went over their biggest hits first, ones everyone know for sure they're going to play. Then we moved on to those less popular songs. I think I like those better. I feel like they're telling me a story. Maybe one I'm not supposed to know.

But _oh my God_. Oh. My. God. Why didn't anyone tell me that music sounds so good? I've developed this apprehension towards music, labeled it as a waste of time, because the last time I've listened to it, I was still stuck with those songs whose only purpose is to rhyme.

Some of their songs feel more like poetry than music. I feel like I'm reading one of my books, just faster. Words are colliding into a perfect union, grabbing each other by the hand and swaying into the air like dandelion seeds.

I feel like I'm floating in the air, levitating above my own body. I see my surroundings even though my eyes are closed. I always imagined this is how being drunk feels like. Running wild without taking a step.

But no, being drunk just makes the world spin faster every time you move. It makes you foggy, dizzy, it makes you so weak and disoriented that even air can knock you down.

This is something different. You inhale the whole world inside of your lungs and things start growing inside of you. Some new roots wrapping around your ribcage. It's your kingdom, and you rule it.

This is _freedom_.

"It's crazy," Caroline says again, expressing her surprise for the tenth time in the past five minutes, "I never thought you would actually do it."

"Neither did I," I answer honestly. Everything's a blur now, it all went down too fast, like my brain wasn't in charge of my body anymore. Maybe my heart took over and messed everything up. Or made it better.

"So," Caroline squeals excitedly, blowing hot air into my nails, "Do you like him?" her voice turns into a whisper, like she's asking me some secret no one else is allowed to hear.

Liking someone is such a weird concept. You meet someone and at one point you think _yes, I like this human more than the other humans, so I want to press my lips against theirs and touch them inappropriately and live in their skin and do a bunch of mistakes like tattoo their name on some highly visible place of my body_. I never really liked anyone, and no one but Matt has ever liked me. I still don't think Matt liked me for me - I think he liked me because I was unreachable. I never let anyone to get to know me well enough to like me. With Stefan, it's different. He knew me when no one else did. He knew me when I still existed.

"I don't know," I say.

There's a short period of silence before Caroline asks, bewildered, "You don't know?" she's not whispering anymore. She doesn't want these words all for herself. "What do you mean you don't know?" I can imagine her frowning but still, somehow, managing to look cheerful. Like frown is just yet another expression of happiness.

"I mean," I start calmly, trying to catch now distant words of the song playing in the background, "I don't know how to tell if I like someone that way," I answer ignorantly, because that's how I feel. Like I was born without this gene, the one that wraps around the genes of other people, creating a connection. A warm, fuzzy feeling, when all you want to do is burst into a song and pick flowers.

It's different with friends. Most of the time, life makes you befriend people. Situations you find yourself in do. Kindergarten, school, roommates at college, coworkers. You spend almost every waking hour with these people so the only logical thing is to become friends with them. Sure, you pick them, you choose who to be friends with, you don't become friends with just anyone, but these people are part of your daily routine for years. Someone picks you up and puts you in a box together. And you stay there until it's time to move to another box. And you have to make it work with whomever you find yourself in the box with. You often do, life makes sure of that.

Liking someone.. that's something you don't choose. It can happen anywhere, anytime, anyhow. While you're walking down the street or returning the book at the library or shopping for groceries at the supermarket. It can happen on your best and worst days, when you look like you've stepped out from an ad, or when you feel like you haven't slept in days. A lot of times it doesn't make sense. It almost never makes sense. How you meet someone and like the way they smile or crinkle their nose or treat their little sister, but then you find out they hate your favorite book or that they don't eat dessert when you want to eat nothing but dessert, and you still like them. Out of some reason you like them even more because of that. Because they rebel against a piece of you, but then smile that goofy smile of theirs and make peace with an even bigger piece of you.

"Well," Caroline starts after both of us keep quiet for quite some time, "Why did you change your mind about going to the concert?"

She asks such a simple question, and I struggle with an answer.

"Because I wanted to," I answer as honest as I can, even though I realize my answer is a little bit vague.

"You wanted to go to the concert? Or you wanted to go with him?" she pushes the matter forward, clinging onto the hope that she's going to get her answer if she keeps on digging.

"Both," I say. I've never been on a concert. Going with Stefan is a plus.

I feel like I'm fighting with her on this. The more she wants the answer, the more I'm intent on keeping it from her.

"Do you feel anything for him?" she asks, and by her tone I can tell she's growing slowly irritated. "Do you think about him? Do you look forward to seeing him? Do certain things remind you of him?" she lists several questions for me and I don't know how else to answer but _yes_.

_Yes._

_Yes to all of them._

"Is that how you feel about Tyler?" I ask instead.

There were many boys in Caroline's life. Tall, short, brown, ginger, pale, dark skinned, masculine, bony, jocks, computer wizards. She can make an alphabet out of them, some of the letters repeating twice. She wasn't intimate with all of them, it hardly ever comes to that, because she loses interest in them as soon as they show some in her. She likes the chase. The tension. Time building up to that moment. But when that moment comes, she packs her bags and leaves. I could never tell why, and I don't think she can either. Maybe it's in her nature. Maybe she's a love nomad, never meant to settle for just one.

Or maybe she's waiting for the one to finally settle down.

Tyler is different. He's been in her life a lot longer than any of the other guys. In a way, he's always been in her life, but it's like she registered his existence only few months ago. And when she did, he started like every other guy she showed interest in. Like a conquest. For Caroline, love is World War III. She wants the world.

But then, one day, she stopped talking about him. She didn't banish him from her life, she didn't make him disappear like she made all those other boys to. It was always like that with Caroline's guys for me - I noticed them only when she did, and when she stopped noticing them, it was like they fell off of the face of the Earth for the rest of us as well.

"You're avoiding my question," I can see her scowl at me even with my eyes closed.

"So are you," I retort.

"No," she says almost instantly, like she always does when I bring Tyler up. She either dismisses me, or pretends she didn't hear me in the first place. So when she continues, it surprises me. "And yes," her voice is softer than it was just seconds ago, "Tyler makes me think about things I didn't think I'll have to think about for a long time."

There's a lot of _think_ in that sentence.

Her answer makes me open my eyes. This is the most she's ever shared about Tyler with me. I want to see the look in her eyes, but she keeps it glued to my nails, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips. It always does when she's trying to concentrate.

"I like the way Stefan smiles," I say, deciding to return with equal measure, "It comes natural to him. When he arches the corners of his lips, they just fade with the rest of his face. They meet some other line and connect with it. I also like his hair," I keep my look on Caroline, waiting for her reaction, "He has nice hair."

She smiles at this, but doesn't say anything.

"I like the way his muscles move under his shirt," I keep on going, surprising myself. But my mouth are like a well oiled machine, I just can't stop. "I like how he looks overall. He's very handsome. I like that he's back. We used to be friends and I didn't even think about him that much since he moved away. But now that he's back, I keep digging up all these memories. It's like.." I try to find the right words, but they come only when I stop chasing after them desperately, "It's like I've been missing him all this time without even realizing it."

I take a deep breath, preparing for the final punch. "I like that he doesn't know about Conrad."

At this, Caroline whips her head in my direction. She parts her lips, but no words come out. Something is going inside of that pretty little head of hers.

After few seconds of silence, of going through possible things to say, she asks, "Don't you think he deserves to know."

_Maybe._

"Maybe."

_One day._

"One day."

If he gets close enough or deep enough that I have no other choice but introduce them to each other.

* * *

I forgot to ask Caroline the most important question - is there a dress code when going to a concert?

I decided to wear a slick, black leather skirt with a maroon top. I have a cute letter purse on chain with a Rolling Stone logo - kudos to aunt Jenna for trying to get me into pop culture - that goes perfectly with it. After some time of thinking I've decided to wear my old Converse on my feet.

I look myself in the mirror and crinkle my nose. Hair - up or down?

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

_Down._

I look like an idiot.

I twist around.

No. I look fine.

Like a fine idiot.

I don't have any time to change now, anyway. I told Stefan I would meet him in front of his house at 5 pm sharp, since we're going with his car. It's five minutes 'til five.

I apply some lipstick, grab my jacket - just in case - and head downstairs.

When I come into the kitchen, I find aunt Jenna in the same position I've left her in when I went upstairs after coming home from Caroline's. Grumpy expression on her face, arms crossed over her chest, pouting.

"I still can't believe you're going to a Coldplay concert," she says bitterly, "You don't even _like_ Coldplay."

A downside to having a cool, young, hip aunt? She's as grown up as you are.

"You look lovely, Elena," my mother says from the other side of the kitchen, smiling gently at me.

I was surprised with how okay my mother was with all this. She was a little bit weary when I told her I'm going to a concert with a boy, but when she heard Caroline is coming as well, and his older brother, she accepted it fairly quickly.

"Yes," Jenna exhales loudly, like she's been holding that breath in for quite some time, "You look smashing."

When she uses the words like _smashing_, it reminds me she actually is older than I am.

"Thank you," I answer politely, hoping this stiff smile on my face doesn't show how nervous I am, "Well, I should get going, I don't want to be late. I just stopped by to say bye," I wave goodbye to them as I start wrapping up that sentence.

They wave back, my mother still smiling - she looks like she's forcing herself to do so - but aunt Jenna doesn't even try. She's still pouting.

"Do you have everything?" I can hear my mothers voice behind me as I start walking away, "Money? Keys? Phone?"

"Yes, yes!" I push my bag up in the air and shake it, so she would hear things colliding with each other inside, to emphasize my point.

I hurry to get outside before anyone can stop me.

Once I'm on my front porch, I can breathe lighter. I push myself against the house, my back barely touching the wood, as I take one big breathe. For courage.

And then, I take a step forward.

Stefan is already waiting for me, on his driveway, leaning against his car. This is something I've noticed about Stefan, he leans on things a lot. But he doesn't look like he's pushing against them, like he's unsteady on his feet. He looks like he's hovering there, in the air. Just for fun. As if standing straight is inexplicably boring to him.

Air is warm, and the sky is clear, bright. It's a beautiful day.

Stefan's shoulders bob up and his whole body shakes, like he's laughing. I can't see his expression, only his back.

Is there someone else with him?

If there is, I can't see them, he must be shielding them with his body. I pull my eyes down and they catch a glimpse of exposed skin extending from a five inch heel.

It's a _girl_.

Did he invite someone else to go with us?

She moves to the side, stepping away from him, exposing herself to me.

Tall. Blonde hair. Big, big eyes - eyes I didn't notice the first time I had seen her. Her face is frightening in its beauty, engaging in a way that, if you find yourself in a room with her, you just can't force yourself to look away.

It's the girl from the mall.

She throws her head backwards, laughing at something he said.

As I watch her, I feel so small, even from such a big distance. Under dressed. Less beautiful. Less interesting. Not tall enough. Not skinny enough.

He said she's not his girlfriend. He said he doesn't have a girlfriend. Wasn't he flirting with me recently? Was that flirting?

_I don't know __I don't know __I don't know._

Is it too late to turn around and call this whole thing off? Yes, that sounds like a good idea. If only I could convince my feet of that, because they won't stop walking. I step off of the porch, I walk down the path, I sway on the curb as I watch left and right for cars.

Warm air is coating my skin with beads of sweat. How attractive.

She looks towards me and I swallow. My throat contracts, nothing can go in, and nothing can get out.

She pulls one quick look over all 168 centimeters of my body, then turns to Stefan and says something to him. When she does, he turns around, expressionless. His face is unreadable. As if he doesn't feel anything right now. Maybe he doesn't.

Maybe he really is indifferent to all of this, and I'm just a hundredth girl in a row asking herself _why doesn't he like me_?

When did I become that girl and more importantly - why did I allow myself to become one?

Whatever's inside me is my own kingdom and I'm the only one who's allowed to reign it.

When I make sure there are no cars coming, I step on the road.

And when I do, he smiles. Not a lot, but a little. Enough. Like he always does. I wonder what a full blown smile looks on him, and what could make him give me one. Because I haven't seen one yet - like his lips are holding a secret he's afraid will escape if he cracks his mouth open wide enough.

I can feel my cheeks getting warmer and I don't know is it because of the air, or because I'm blushing.

"Elena," he says my name when I come close enough that I can hear him. He says it in a way no one else does, like he's humming it, each letter rolling off of his tongue slowly, gently.

"Hi," I say, lifting my hand up in the air a little in order to greet him.

His eyes are glassy, like there's some barrier between his pupil and the outside world, making it harder for him to see.

He keeps on staring at me for several more seconds and then, like someone poked him with something sharp, he jumps a little in place. "Oh!" he steps out of the way, "Elena, this is Rebekah," he says as if he had just remembered the girl standing behind him. Like she slipped out of his mind as soon as she slipped out of his eyesight. He turns his head to her, "Rebekah, this is Elena."

She smirks at him, but not mischievously. She smirks at him like she knows his secrets, one he didn't reveal to her. Like she can see right through him. It makes me wonder what she sees.

She extends her hand to me. "It's nice to meet you, Elena," she smiles warmly with her eyes, as well as with her lips.

I catch her hand with mine and shake it. "Likewise," I try to imitate her smile, but I don't think I could ever look so bright, no matter how hard I tried.

She looks even more beautiful up close. Her skin is not fair, but it's not dark either, it's more of a color girls sport in early September, the leftovers of their tan from the summer. Her eyes are dark blue, the eyeliner around them making the color only darker, giving her a grunge look. Her long hair captures her face perfectly, small locks bobbing on her chest as she breathes. The color seems natural, and I didn't even know such shade can be.

She seems warm, and kind. She has a fading accent, not sure from where.

Her beauty seems to be too much - like the sun, you can't look at it too long before your eyes start to hurt. Out of many reasons. It's mesmerizing.

If Stefan feels something for her, I can't blame him. He would be crazy not to.

"Ah," someone says. I lift my look up and see Damon walking down the driveway. "Little Gilbert girl is here," he grins as me, flashing a set of snowy white teeth.

Stefan sighs. "I wish you would stop calling her that," he doesn't sound annoyed, or irritated. Even in criticism, his voice is warm. I can't imagine him talking to Damon in any other way, though. "She's not little anymore," he adds, making my heart beat faster.

Damon looks at him, still grinning. That's all I've seen Damon doing since they got here. And he was such an angry child, with a frown constantly between his eyebrows. "I can see that," he replies, "Stop being tacky."

Stefan huffs through his nose.

"I see you've met my fiance," Damon's voice surprises me, when it shouldn't have had. All because my attention was on Stefan.

"Excuse me?" I look at him, confusion overflowing my face.

Damon moves to Rebekah, draping his arm over her shoulders. "Rebekah, my fiance," he says, and bewilderment fills my eyes, "I see my brother forgot to mention that part."

Damon's fiance. She's Damon's fiance.

I can't even look at Stefan right now. I can't because I'm afraid of what he might see if I look at him.

_Relief._

Fortunately, I don't have to think of ways to avoid this awkward situation, because Damon says, "We should get going," I look at him from the corner of my eye only to catch him walking to the drivers side. "Elena, you hop in the back with Stefan," he grins again, wider than the first time, if possible, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do back there."

Rebekah's laughter echoes through the whole street.

* * *

Car ride to Atlanta was a little bit awkward. We mostly kept quiet, listening to music. The only thing Stefan asked me was am I excited for the show few minutes before we entered the town.

I felt unwanted. Out of place. Anxious. Like someone forced me into a confined space with three other strangers and limited our air supply.

I kept glancing at Stefan from the corner of my eye. He kept tapping his fingers against his knee nervously. I don't know why, but I asked myself more times than one are his palms sweaty.

Maybe because mine were.

I don't understand him. I don't understand him at all.

He seemed so self aware, conscious of his actions. _Courageous_. Like he knows what he wants, and is intent on getting it. He was chasing after me, asking me out.

Maybe that's where the thrill was - in the chase. Now when I've given in, he had given up. I don't excite him anymore.

And now when he has me right next to him, he can't even force himself to look at me. If he could, he would squeeze himself even further away from me. There's such a wide distance between our bodies. He's distant. Quiet. Like he used to be before.

Just, now, it's not a good look on him. Not now when he's so big and strong, his muscles moving under his shirt with every exhale and inhale he takes.

We meet Tyler and Caroline in front of the place where the concert is being held. There's a sea of people - I don't know if I've ever seen so many people in one place - but it's easy to spot them because they're waiting for us at the end of a parking lot.

When Caroline sees Rebekah getting out of a car, she raises her eyebrow, looking at me questioningly. I shake my head lightly, letting her know there's nothing to worry about.

I walk over to her, swinging my arms and throwing them around her neck before pulling her into a hug. I can feel her surprise because her body stiffens before it relaxes, and she hugs me back.

"Is she with - " she starts, her tone hushed, but I interrupt her before she manages to finish the sentence.

"Damon," I whisper his name in Caroline's ear, "She's Damon's fiance."

Caroline releases me, and I step away from her. There's a relieved expression on her face, like this somehow affects her.

"You look amazing, Elena," she says before her eyes wander behind me. Her eyebrow goes up and the corners of her lips jump up, just a little, just enough, "Doesn't she Stefan?"

Every line on my face tenses. I can't believe she just asked him that.

Fortunately, he doesn't seem as fazed by it as I am. "Huh?" I hear him say, lost, "Uh, yeah, amazing. I'm going to buy some water, do you need anything?" he asks, and I assume that question is directed towards me.

"No, thank you," I say, but when I turn my head, I only see his back. He's already walking away.

"Wow," Caroline says, surprise evident in her voice.

He's fighting his way through the crowd, slowly getting lost in it. Maybe that's what he wants. Maybe he wants to run away.

My voice is quiet, mixing with other voices around us, near and far, far away, "Tell me about it."

* * *

I've never been to a concert. It's crowded. This auditorium wasn't made to hold this many people. Everyone are bumping into each other - my skin colliding with the skin of strangers. I don't even want to think about the bruises I'll discover on my body tomorrow morning. The air becomes stale just few minutes after we fill the auditorium. It's warm - no, it's more than warm, it's hellishly hot. I can smell the unpleasant scent of sweat spreading through the room.

There's a guy beside me - he's probably the person most excited to be here - and he's jumping up and down constantly, bumping me with his elbow and shoulder and every other part of his body he manages to stretch in my direction. I don't even want to think about how he'll be once the concert actually starts.

Damon and Rebekah went the other way. Damon said, and I quote, _we're going to let you kids do your own thing_. You kids. Like he's twenty years senior.

I'm standing next to Stefan, and Tyler and Caroline are on the other side of him. I've never seen Caroline so.. so relaxed, I guess, with a guy before. She acts like she does when she's alone with us. Like she's not trying to be someone else. She's being herself.

I almost regret coming here. Almost.

Then, the concert begins. The guys come up on stage and the whole auditorium screams, jumps, cries out at the same time, like they're one. The main singer greets the audience - his voice is a lot different when he talks than it is when he sings - in a warm and cheerful way. He starts with one of their more upbeat songs, and everyone start singing alongside him. I remember the song, I just don't remember the words, at least not until the chorus comes. Everyone are on their feet, jumping in place - except the guy next to me, it seems that his goal is to push himself up into the sky - swaying their hands in the air and shouting words into thin air. After few of their happier songs, they switch to the sadder, slower ones. Those songs are the most powerful ones from their repertoire. When the music starts, when everyone hear which song is coming next, they calm down. They stop jumping and start swaying, slowly, gently, uttering the words in silence. All of these voices form into one big, synchronized voice which collides with the singers.

And I'm amazed by it, by how close music can bring people together to each other. By how it can unite bunch of strangers who share the same kind of love towards a bunch of words thrown into a never ending sentence followed by music. I can't believe I refused to be a part of it, until now.

Even the guy next to me stopped jumping, but he's still swaying hard enough, like a punching bag, that he's bumping into my shoulder.

Stefan must have noticed because he leans towards me and asks, directly into my ear, "Is he bothering you?" he sounds half amused, half worried.

"Oh," I say, quite loudly so he can hear me, "No, no," I lie, because I don't want to ruin this experience for him.

He smiles, like he knows I'm lying. "Come here," he says, even though through all of this noise it comes out as _c'mere_. He steps back, just a little, just enough for me to squeeze in between him and the girl standing in front of him. At first, I don't move, I just keep looking at him, and he keeps looking back. Then, he moves his look to the spot in front of him, signaling for me to move already, so I do.

I don't want to invade the space of the girl in front of me, so I try not to touch her as I squeeze in. But that means that I have to squeeze next to Stefan as close as possible. My brain is yelling at me to move, to go back to my spot, but my body is not complaining. Every inch of me is enjoying being close to him. My shoulder blades are pressing onto his hard chest and the small of my back is right next to his stomach.

Then, he puts his hands on my hips, and sets my whole body on fire. It begins at my toes and starts expending through my whole body, there's lava in my veins instead of blood.

His touch makes me believe humans are made out of gasoline instead of water and our fingertips are matches, looking for a surface to fulfill their purpose.

My body starts swaying, at least my hips do, without planning.

His arms go all the way around my waist, pulling me closer to him. He doesn't even squeeze me all that hard, but still, his action knocks the air right out of my lungs. His head falls on my shoulder, I can feel his breath on my neck.

The shy, quiet guy from the car disappears, and Stefan comes back.

"This one is my favorite," he tells me.

It's hard to concentrate on the words of the song in this position so I just nod.

He keeps his head on my shoulder, his chin pressing into the gap of my collar bone.

_Please don't kiss me please don't kiss me please don't kiss me_, I pray.

I'm still swaying, my body gently rubbing against his. He leaves his arms around my waist, but brings his head up. He doesn't kiss me. Maybe he felt my reluctance. Maybe he never meant to kiss me.

My prayer turns into disappointment.

* * *

When the concert ended, Caroline and Tyler headed straight home. Caroline gave me a goodbye hug and smiled at me knowingly.

Rebekah wanted a cheeseburger, so Damon took her to a nearby burger joint. Neither Stefan nor me were in the mood for food - I was still too excited, blood boiling inside of me - so we decided to take a walk.

I can still feel his hands on my hips, his arms around my waist, his fingers colliding on the top of my stomach.

"Are you okay?" I ask. I don't know where that question came from, I don't even remember thinking it.

He whips his head around to face me, and I realize it's too late to avoid his look and pretend I haven't said anything at all. "Yes," he says, his voice strained by the weight of surprise, "Why do you ask?"

"Before," I say right after him, like somehow I knew he will ask that question, so I subconsciously saved an answer, "You seemed distant."

He still seems surprised, but now, in a different way. He looks surprised that I've noticed.

So he looks away. That makes me think he's not going to answer my question and just as enough time passes that I'm ready to give up, he says, "Ah. It's just.. my brother.." he looks back at me, struggling with words, and I can see how lost he is, "It's hard to explain."

I don't push him further, because I know all about things that are hard to explain.

We keep on walking. It seems that we're spinning in small circles. Either that, or everything in this town looks exactly alike. Maybe one street repeats itself endlessly.

"Tell me a secret," I say, looking straight ahead. I can't look at him. I don't think he can look at me either, because I don't feel his eyes on me.

_Tell me a secret._ It's a game we used to play as kids.

_"Tell me a secret," he said one time, while we were lying in the tent in his backyard._

_"I'm jealous of Katherine Pierce," I remember I said._

_He kept quiet for some time, then he turned to me and whispered, "My secret is that I have a secret I can't tell anyone."_

After that, we kept doing it once a week, then more regularly. As much as we needed to share.

"I saw you kissing Matt," he says.

I feel like someone punched me in the stomach. Hundred times in a row.

"Oh," is all I manage to squeeze out.

I wondered did he see anything, I wondered many times. He didn't say anything, and I didn't ask, so eventually, as time passed, I stopped wondering.

"Oh?" he repeats. What he's actually asking is, _is that all you have to say?_

"I'm not really good with boys," I admit shamefully. Why am I telling him this? The rules were always clear - one secret, until the question is asked again. Never more than one secret.

People never run out of secrets.

"He likes you."

"I know."

"But you don't like him?"

"No. I see him as a friend, nothing more. Kissing him was a mistake."

He huffs. "A kiss is never a mistake."

"No?" I ask curiously, like a child who found a hidden object inside of a sandbox.

"No. A kiss always tells you something. It's either yes, or no. It makes a decision you weren't able to make up to that point. So it can't be a mistake. It can be many other things, like wrong, but never a mistake."

Hmh. I never looked at it that way. I never looked at that kiss as something that finally tipped the scale. It was always an unneeded event that stirred up trouble. But most of that trouble is gone now, and a lot of things are clearer than ever.

_A kiss always tells you something._

I wonder how many girls Stefan had kissed.

"Now you," he says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Oh. Right. My turn. Whenever I would ask him for a secret, I would forget that I'm obliged to give one as well. Rule number two. You pay for a secret with a secret.

"I saw you with Rebekah at the mall one time," I say, swallowing hard. Every part of me is yelling at me that telling him this is a mistake, but I refuse to listen. I pass all the danger signs on the road, and keep on going, even if there's a chance I might drive off a cliff, "I thought she's your girlfriend. I was jealous." _I was jealous today as well._

He doesn't say anything. I don't know if that's a good or a bad sign.

When I look at him, he's looking straight ahead of himself. I don't want him to catch me staring at him, so I look away.

"When I came back, why did you act like you didn't remember me?" he asks instead of reacting to my statement. Maybe this is some kind of a reaction, one I yet have to interpret.

"I don't know," I lie, something stinging in my chest, "Well.." I shake my head. I can't believe I'm telling him this. "I have this.." I don't know how to explain it. Every explanation I come up with sounds incredibly stupid. "I have this rule where I don't let new people into my life," I say it as it is. There's no other way.

"I'm not really new, though, am I?" he says.

He doesn't ask why. He doesn't question my sanity, or the lack of it. He just accepts it, no questions asked.

"No, you're not. Well, technically, you are different than you were before. So I don't think I can put you in either category."

"Do you think you could bend the rules for me, then?"

If only he knew how many rules I've already bent for him. One more doesn't hurt. I've broken that one long time ago, anyway.

I smile, hoping he doesn't notice.

Hoping he does.

"Sure."


End file.
